r  ^'  '1* 

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\iyrtij:  leaves,  y 

PECUL1AUL\     ADAPTED, 


'^O    THK 


TIMES. 


A..Tr  IfAIirUM. 


I 


ST^CrONTD    i  DITiOrv. 


DUKE 

UNIVERSITY 

LIBRARY 


Treasure  %oom 


h^ 


MYRTLE    LEAVES; 


OK 


TOKENS  AT   THE  TOMB. 


BY 
REV    ADOLPKUS  W    MANQCM. 


RALEIGH,  N.  C, 

BRANSON  &  FARRAR, 

FAYETTEVILLE   STREET. 

>.  ■  1864. 


"We  Lave  iioticrd  the  custom  as  prevalent  among  the 
Eaeteiii  nations  of  visiting  the  tomb.y  of  their  deceased  friends. 
■^  *  *  At  the  foot  of  each  grave  was  enclosed  a  eprig  of 
Myrtle,  regularly  watered  every  day  by  the  mourning  friend 
who  visited  it.  *  *  *  We  did  not  observe  a  single  grave 
to  which  this  token  of  respect  and  sorrow  w^ae  not  attach- 
ed.'^  I  jf'  pUCKl^HAM. 


i.J 


;     .     ^^-s 


/    -u- 


I  - 


A. 

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r  N/\r^  .7^ 


TO   ALL 

THE  AFFLICTED  AND  BEUEAVED 

TQESE     PAGES 

AKE  AFFECTIONATELY 
DEDICATED, 

''by   THE  AUTHOR. 


I  xi  n  r  Q  Q 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

PKEFACE,            -            -            -            -            .        -  7 

MEMOKY,                  10 

DISCOURSE  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  J.  W.  HARRISS,  13 

THE  HOLY  SHIELD,            .            .            .            _  29 

THE  DREAM  OF  FAITH,          -            -            -      "  33 

FOREVER  GONE,        -        -  *       .            .            -  42 

THERE  IS  NO  PLACE  LIKE  HOME,            -            -  47 

THE  GRAVE, 52 

THE  HYACINTH,        -        -            -       '     -            -  58 

MIEDNOTATEAR, 01 

MY  MOTHER'S  GRAVE,    -            -            .»         -  65 
CONSOLATION,        -        .        .          .            -            -67 

WHERE  ARE  THEY  ?  -    1 1 i  C  t}  3  ^        "      "^ 

WE'LL  MEET  AGAIN,    -  ^    -        -  .  .  76 

MOTHER,  HOME,  AND  HE  AVE^T,        -        -     .-       79 


VI  CONTENTS. 

POETRY. 

MORVEN  AND  LINDA  ;  OR,  THE  TOKEN  STAR,  81 

THE  BURIED  LOCK,         -            -            -        -        -  9t 

LITTLE  ELLA,             .           -            -            -        -  99 

SHE  IS  GON^,        -            -            -            .        -        -  101 

THE  LAST  TEAR,        -            -       •     -        -          -  103 

THE  SOLDIER'S  FAREWELL,     -        -          -          -  105 

THE  FATAL  FLOWER,        -  -        -     ,       -      ■  106 

ITIS  WELL,            -        -            -            -            -        -  112 

MY  HAPPY  HOME,            -            -            -            -  111 

THE  NEOLECTED  GRAVE,     -            -            -            -  109 

WEEPING  BUT  HOPING,^        -*         ^            -  113 

THAT  BEAUTIFUL  BLUE  SKY,    -            -            -  114 

FAREWELL,        -            -            -            -            -  116 

.'TELLHER/^- — —            -            -            -            -  118 

LINES  IN  MEMORY^OF.  DR.  MITCHELL,     -          -  ll9 

TO  A  DEPARTED  FRIEND,        -            -            -  122 

'OUR  LITTLE  ROSE,"        -            -            -            -  124 

THE  SETTING  STAR, 127 

THE  TRlUxMPH  OF  THE  REDEEMED,    -        -  129 


PREF-A.CE. 


The  first  edition  of  Myrtle  Leaves  is  exhaust- 
ed. I  do  not  regret  its  publication,  ibr  it  met 
with  a  generous  welcome,  and  I  have  many  rea- 
sons to  believe  that  it  has  accomplished  good. 
In  preparing  the  second  edition  I  have  carefully 
reviewed  the  first,  and  added  much  which,  it  is 
hoped,^will  renderthework  more  successful  in  its 
mission  of  sympathy  and  consolation.  With 
humble  confidence  it  is  committed  to  the  care  of 
Him  who  '*  doeth  all  things  well." 


*  StiU  o%t-  ihor€  aceno*  my  meinTy  w»<k8S, 
And  for-diy  brcxjda  v»iih  misi    or   ; 
Time  but  tJi'  irnprcee-.ofi-de-'fer  m  >ko« 
4bS  si'^&cos  ibaif  'cl-aaneU  a  e  .  r  »v.'rt:,"     BuRi^^s 

There  are  few  tomba  without  tears — few  without  the 
incense  of  eacred  memories  and  griefg.  To  love  and 
hallow  the  re3ting  place  of  the  loved  and  lost,  is  cj  a- 
men  to  mankind.  It  is  said  some  unknown  hand  git^h- 
ered  flowers  and  strewed  them  even  upon  the  cursed* and 
friendless  grave  of  Nero.  The  North  American  j.n- 
dians,  notwithstanding  their  ignoranoe  and  barbarism, 
so  revered,  the  tombs  of  their  people  that  they  w  )uld  ' 
never  pass  them  -fiibout  scattering  du3t  upon  them  as 
a  token  of  respect  and  memory,  and  future  generations 
wer«  known  to  return  and  visit  the  rude  and  silent  burial 
grounds  of  their  fathers.  There  tha  maidens  threw 
their  offerings  of  beads  and  Sowers,,  and  the  stalwart 
warrior  of  the  forest  bowed  and  worshipped  his  God.— 
Even  the  ar.clvilised  Africans  follow  this  raj  of  light 
which  beams  from  the  universal  heart,  and  assembling 
around  the  grave,  chant  a  dismal,  wailing  dirge  to  the 
departed.  In  the  distant  past,  the  Modes,  and  Persians, 
and  Grreeks,  all  practiced  the  beautiful  custom  of  casting 
flowers  and  evergreens  in  the  open  vault ';  and  they  hand- 
ed down  rfhe  example  of  planting  the  Myrtle  over  tha 
cherj.^hcd  fallen  as  a  token  of  undying  reoiembranoe 
and  aSection.     The  history  of  the  '^^wrid  p.'ov^is  that 


10  MYRTLE   LEAVES.  . 

the  more  cnligbten^d  and  pious  a  people  are,  the  more 
j^triking  and  aifecting-  the  evidences  of  this  universal 
principle.  We^  dear  reader,  remember,  aye,  and  we  yet 
ferv^ently  love  our  dear  departed.  We  look  still  with 
a  strange  interest  on  the  objects  that  are  associated 
with  our  recollections  of  them.  We  regard  with  sad 
tenderness  the  fjowers  they  nursed,  the  trees  they  plan- 
ted, the  paths  they  trod,  the  garments  they  wore,  the 
chairs  they  occupied,  the  books  they  read,  the  songs 
they  sang,  the  pleasures  they  once  enjoyed,  the  kind 
friends  they  loved ;  yes,  and  preeminently,  the  ruthtess 
(graves  which  they  now  fill.  It  is  so  ;  it  is  our  nature 
tha£  it  should  be  ^o.  There  are  many  occasions  when  it 
might  be  said  ;  "It  is  manly  to  be  heart-broken  here." 
Hearts  will  remember — will  sorrow.  But  they  need 
not  remember  and  sorrow  in  vain.  Memory  may  change 
to  hope,  and  te|rs  may  brighten  and  nurture  that  hope 
as  it  matures.  Have  you  a  grief  which  earth  cannot 
allay  ?  Have  you  felt  the  heart-strings  breaking  as  you 
gave  up  some  fond  friend  or  relative  to  the  dark,  cold 
sepulchre  ?  Then,  come  and  commune  with  me.  What 
is  the  best  alleviation  of  your  grief — what  the  noblest  use 
to. make  of  your  afflictions  ?  Whenever  you  remember 
t4iat  dear  one,  remember  that  you  too  must  die.  Then 
as  the  soul  shudders,  think  of  the  glorious'  provision 
made  by  Mercy,  to  enable  you  to  live  forever,  although 
you  must  pass  through  the  tomb.  Follow  this  thought 
with  the  sacred  resolve  that  becomes  a  being  of  reason, 
self-love,  and  immortality,  and  spring  to  the  open  arms 
of  the  Father  of  Life  and  Consolation,  begging  and  re- 
ceiving salvation  and  solace    through  the  merits  of  His 


MEMORY.  11 

Sou,  Believe  the  voice  of  all  experience,  there  is  peace 
and  .hope  for  jou  in  those  arms — there  is  none  else- 
where in  all  this  universe.  Faith  in  the  Son  of  Marv 
is  the  great  specific  of  Infinite  Wisdom  and  Love,  for  the 
wounds  of  the  human  lieart.  Other  means  of  relief 
might  he  recommended,  but  their  effects  are  only  par- 
tial and  transitory.  There  are  none  real  and  effectual, 
save  those  which  look  to  the  abundant  satisfaction 
which  God  has  promised  to  thpse  who  love  and  serve 
Ilim.  Possessed  of  that  faith,  you  may  view  affliction 
and  the  grave  with  an  honest  eye,  clothe  them  with  all 
the  power  and  terror  which  they  may  justly  claim,  and 
you  will  discover  that  over  all  their  darkness  there  is 
a  covering  of  sunshine,  a.nd  on  the  dreary  mound  the 
hand  of  heaven  has  planted  the  beautiful  heart's-ease — 
the  cheering  amaranth — teaching  the  weeping  heart  of 
a  land  where  the  flowers  of  love  and  rapture  bloom 
without  fading,  and  the  Sun  of  glory  shtiies  with  in- 
creasing radiance  forever!. 

But  how  may  you' embrace  that  ''faith,'  and  secure 
that  peace  and  comfort,  and  hope  of  the  Christian  ? 
You  must  abandon  all  your  sins,  and  resolve  to  do  the 
will  of  your  Heavenly  Father,  commencing  this  very 
moment.  But  this  is  not  enough.  Past  sins  must 
be  forgiven,  and  the  heart  must  bo  changed  and  made 
new.  How  shall  this  be  accomplished?  Momentous 
question*!  God  says  lie. will  do  it,  if  you  w*li  ask  Him 
in  the  name  and  through  the  merits  of  His  Son,  who 
died  to  purchase  these  blessings.  Do  you  believe  this? 
Then  continue  to  believe,  and  lift  up  the  heart  in  sup- 
plication, and  the  ever-glorious  work  iii  done.     All  your 


V2  MyRTI.E    LKAVf.!*. 

rcliuncc  must  be  in  the  promise  the  FatbftV  has  made, 
for  the  sake  oT  Ilis  Son,  that  ''whaUon-er  yo\t  aik  in 
ffis  najne,  believe  that  you  nceive  it  and  yon,  shall'have 
it."  With  euch  reliance  you  shall  bo  conscious  of  a 
happy  change  an«l  feel  the  gentle  peace  anJ  holy  love  of 
^  thj  Saviour  breaihing  through  the  soul.  Then  you  will 
realize  tliat  '*all  is  well,'  though  the  shadows  of  death 
gather  gloomily  in  y^ur  once  sunny  home.  In  the  long 
days  and  nights  of  your  loneliness  you  will  feel  the 
soothing  influence  of  a  precious  >pirlt-prcsence,  and 
seem  to  hear  the  voice  of  your  Redeemer. as  he  whispers 
tenderly  to  your  soul,  *'/will  not — /  will  not  leave  thee  ; 
I  will  never — NEVER — 2SEVER  forsakeihce.  "  Oh,  what 
an  immensity  of  satisfaction,  in  that  priceless  assurance  ! 


OK  THE  DEATH  OF 

JAMES*  W.  ilARRISS. 


'  Arn.l  be  did  thai  which  v,'a?;  right  in  the  sight  of  tho  Lord,  and 
"walked  in  the  'wnyn  of  David,  his  futhor,  and  inclined  noithcr  to 
tJje  ripht  band  nor  to  the  left.  ^  Fur  in  the  eie^hth  year  ofhi?  rei^;:!!, 
■while  he  was  yet  young,  he  Vgar,  to  peek  after  the  God  of  David, 
hi?  father." — 11  Chron.  xxxiv.  if^,  8, 

This  text  is  an  epitome  of  the  life  of  Josiab.  \vlio  wa.s 
ou€  of  the  most  excellent  kings  of  Israel.  It  was  said 
oi  him,  "David  was  a  greater,  but  not  a  better  man." 
lie  began  to  seek  the  Lord  in  the  sixteenth  year  of  his 
age,  and  became  so  zealous  and  devoted  as  a  servant  of 
God.  that  ho  overthrew  the  idolatry  of  his  people,  and 
re-establi.^hed  among  them  the  worship  of  the  otily  true 
God. 

We  iiii^y  use  the  same  elotjucnt  Mord^  of , the  text,  al- 
most without  change,  to  describe  the  life  and  character 
of  him  around  whose  bier  we  meet  to-day,  to  mingle  our 
sad,  but  hopeful  tears.  When  applied  to  him,  they  sug- 
gest-tlie  idea  tliat  '-lUK  M.\1N  PePPOSEb"  OF  LIFE  ARE 
ACCOMPLI?:HJil>  ULI.V  BY  'IJIOJ-K  AI.ONE  WHO  ARE  EARLY 
\\r>  PKKSrSTEJSTLY   PI<»L-."' 

Let  us  then  proceed  to  consider  life's  leading  (»hjects. 
and  to  ascertain  bv  whom  thcv  arc  fulfilled. 


'a^» 


14  MYRTLE  LEAVES. 

• 

One  of  these  objects,  is  the  enjoyment  oj  this  life* 
Man  loves  peace  andpleasure.  It  is  his  constant  desire 
*  and  aim  to  shun  trouble  and  be  happy.  In  this,  he  is 
l)lainly  approved  by  his  Leavenly  Father.  God  never 
designed  man's  misery.  He  has  put  forth  his  mighty 
cnGrfries  to  make  him  blessed.  Human  instincts  all 
^ook  to  the  avoiding  of  evil,  and  the  embracing  of  good. 
The  various  endowments  of  body  and  mind,  and  the  vast 
resources  in  nature,  to  which  they  are  directed  and 
adapted,  unite  in  declaring  the  same  gracious  purpose. 
It  is  unmistakeably  revealed  also  in%the  volume  of  In- 
spiration. 

Who  then  enjoys  this  life  luost  and  best?  Nat  the 
wicked ;  for  the  Bible  teaches  that  ''  the  way  of  the 
transgressor  is  hard,  "  and  that  "  there  is  no  peace  to 
the  wicked.''  Reason  and  experience  teach  the  same. 
Guilt  is  misery.     The  German  poet  says, 

"  Of  all  earthly  ills,  the  chief  is  guilt.." 
The  usual'attendant  of  guilt  is  a  bad  conscience,  and 
that  always  afflicts  the  soul  with  painful  disquietude  and 
dread. 

'•  I'licix'  aiiiile.1  i\<j  [luriidisc  vU  oaitii  .si>  laii- 
But  guilt  will  raise  ave -ging  phantoms  there. 

The  sinner  may  resolve  and  strode  to  forget  his  condi- 
tion, to  stultify  his  conscience,  and  to  drown  the  troubles 
of  his  uneasy  heart  in  wicked  indulgences  ;  but  it  will  be 
like  the  forgetfuhicss  of  a  victim  of  a  fell  disease,  giving 
neither  remedy  nor  safety  :  auii  wlienever  he  looks  ^with- 
in him,  he  will  find  and  feel  that  his  peace  is  not  genuine 
or  reliable.  In  the  degree  that  a  man  commits  vile  and 
wicked  acti,  he  often  loses  his  self-respect,  and  self- 
respect  is  indispensable  to  real  enjoyment. 


A  SERMON.  ,15 

Sinful  habits  are  fruitful  sources  of  suffering  and  mis- 
fortune. Ungodlj  conduct  frequently  changes  a  cherish- 
ed pleasure  into  a  fountain  of  bitterness.  It  sometimes 
saps  the  foundations  of  all  hope  and  happiness,  and 
makes  life,  while  in  its  spring  time,  a  cheerless  desola- 
tion— a  miserable  ;iuin.  It  has  driven  many  a  poor 
heart  to  seek  relief  from  the  burden  of  woe,  and  the  fiery 
fiting  of  remorse  in  the  terrible  death  of  the  suicide. 

How  is  it  with  the  Christian  ?     The  Scn-iptures  de- 
clare that  ** godliness  is  profitable  unto  all  things,  having 
the  promise  of  the  life  that  noiv  is,  "  and  that  "  all  things 
work  together  for  good. to  them  that  love  God."     This 
latter    verse   is   one  of  the  great  oracles  of  Heaven, 
whence   christians   receive   responses  that   calm   their 
hearts'  commotions,  and  give  them  contentment  in  the 
hours  of  terror  and  gloom.     It  is  only  one  specimen  of 
the  manifold  privileges  and  treasures  of  the  child  of 
God.     As  a  grand  foundation,  he  feels  that  he  is  safe. 
Broad  as  the  infinitude  of  Gods  power  and  mercy,  is 
the  ground  'of  his  trust.     He  has  vouchsafed  unto  him 
a  precious  peace  of  mind  which  nestles  unrufiled  in  his 
reposing  soul,  despite  the  powers  of  change,  the  frowns 
of  fortune,  and  the  fierce  clamorings  of  sin.     While  he 
is  faithful,  he  can  ever  say  with  good  old  Melancthon, 
"  a  good  conscience  is  my  paradise."     He  takes  life's 
blessings  with  a  careful  hand,  and  then  sweetens  theui 
with  his  heartfelt  gratitude.     Everything  that  is  in  the 
world  seems  richer  and  sweeter  and  dearer  to  him,  be- 
cause he  loves  God,  and  knows  that  God  loves  him.     He 
suffers  no  undue  solicitude  about  the  future,  for,  as  he 
looks  before  him,  he  beholds  a  golden  promise    on    the 


i6  MYRTLE  LEAVES. 

l)oeom  of  to-n'iCiTO^.  He  baa  so  much  hope  to  cheer 
him,  based  upon  tliose  sure  promi&eB,  that  he  cannot  be 
found  without  abundant  cause  for  gratitude  to  his  kind 
Father.  And  then  he  ib  ever  tasting  the  8^veet  waters 
of  anticipationj  for  he  knows  that  after  a  %hile,  his  hope 
will  ripen  into  Eeaven.   ,  « 

HencSj  the  longer  one  lives  here  "siithout  a  saving 
trust  in  the  Saviour,  the  more  evil  he  encounters^  and 
tlie  more  enjoyment  he  loses.  Ke  alone  realizes  the 
blessings  which  InSnite  Vfisdor*  designs  that  tliis  world 
should  afford,  who  becomes  pious  while  he  is  '*<yet 
young,  "  and  lives  in  obedience  to  the  gracious  com- 
mandments of  the  Lord. 

Another  great  object  of  life  ie  to  minuter  to  the  wel- 
fare and  enjoyment  of  our  fellow  beings.  This  is  clearly 
indicated  by  the  existenceof  the  great  laws  of  influence,, 
by  the  tender  ties  of  relationship,  and  by  all  those  noble 
sensibilities  of  our  nature  which  turn  to  svmpathv  at 
the  sight  of  sorrow,  and  prompt  us  to  r( jt?ice  over  the 
success  and  happiness  of  tho3&  wo  love.  The  Truth  of 
God  represents  this  as  one  of  the  main  feaiiires  in  the- 
objects  of  life. 

We  there  leam  that  if  we  are  jealou;3  fur  God's  glory, 
we  should  have  regard  to  man's  happiness.  Kow,  sui*e- 
ly  no  one  will  contend  that  sinfulness  conduces  to  the 
fulfilment  of  this  bbiect.  Does  a  wicked  mo.n  make  his 
friends  happy  ?  Do  his  sins  bring  peace  and  joy  to  the 
hearts  that  cherish  him  -?  Only  think  of  the  uneasiness 
*a.nd  affliction  which  have  been  produced  by  a  siiigle 
reckless,  dissipated  youth!  .  The.  blush  of  shame  often 
tingog  the  cheek  of  the  innocent,  as  a  fslher,  or  brother, 


A  SERMON,  17 

or  husband,  or  son  takes  the  name  of  God.  in  vain  in 
the  presence  of  those  who  frown  and  shudder  at  pro- 
fanity. Go  with  me  in  fancy  to  the  home  of  the  youth 
who  has  fallen  a  victim  to  intemperance.  He  has  been 
absent  too  long,  and  tlie  hearts,  the  loving  hearts  are 
filled  with  anxious  fears.  They  speak  kindly  of  him 
Btill;  they  cannot  speak  otherwise  than  kindly,  for  after 
all  his  recklessness,  nature  prompts  them  to  love  him. 
The  more  tbey  cherish  him,  the  more  they  sufier  on  his 
account.  At  length  his  uneven  step  is  heard,  and  turn- 
ing to  tbe  door  they  see  him  stagger  over  the  threshold. 
The  dear  old  mother's  face  turns  pale  with  grief,  for 
she  is  looking  on  the  dying  hope  and  promise  of  her 
child.  Those  are  hot  tears  that  she  Is  shedding,  and 
there  is  agony  in  those  trembling  limbs.  Ah  !  her  heart 
is  too  .good  and  kind  to  be  struggling  so  !  And  the 
father  is  unhappy  too.  He  is  pierced  to  the  heart  to 
see  his  once  noble  and  hopeful  boy,  a  wretched  drunkard. 
His  manly  bosom  quivers  with  alternate  grief  and  re- 
sentment. The  scene  is  finished  by  a  sweet  sister  cling- 
ing with  weeping  love  to  her  brother,  and  striving  to 
redeem  him  by  shedding  around  him  a  spell  of  tender- 
ness almost  as  sacred  as  the  incense  of  Heaven.  There 
is  deep  gtoom  in  that  household,  and  well  there  may  be, 
for  it  is  shrouded  by  a  dismal  and  darkening  curse. 
Young  man:  beware!  To  the  extent  that  you  are 
wicked  you  will  bring  evil  and  miao-y  to  fond  and  trust- 
ing hearts.  Sin  makes  its  votaries  unpleasant,  repul- 
sive and  troublesome.  An  idle,  wayward,  swearing, 
drinking,  gambling  son,  makes  sunshine  darkness,  and 
pleasure  pain. 


18  MYRTLE   LEAVES. 

How  different  the  influence  of  the  pious  youtli !  His 
presence  in  the  delight  of  his  home.  All  are  the  more 
happy  when  he  la  with  them,  dispensing  the  sweetest 
kindness,  and  the  holy  charms  of  love.  His  company 
is  always  pleasant,  and  he  cheers  and  gladdens  every 
circle  that  he  enters.  He  speaks  the  words  of  wisdom 
and  encouragement.  He  scatters  the  gifts  of  a  generous 
sympathy.  His  actions  are  noble  and  enchaining,  how- 
ever humble  his  sphere,  and  tell  upon  the  welfare  of  all 
who  follow  his  example.  He  contributes  as  liberally  as 
ho  can  to  useful  and  ch-aritable  causes.  He  is  taught 
by  his  religion  to  feed  the  hungry,  clothe  the  naked, 
comfort  the  afflicted,  minister  to  the  unfortunate^,  and 
visit  the  fatherless  and  the  widow.  In  brief,  to '  the 
degree  that  he  is  faithful,  he  devotes  his  time,  -  talents^ 
possessions,  influence,  everything,  in  a  high  sense,  to  the 
alleviation  of  want  and. distress,  and  the  enhancement 
of  human  weal. 

It  is  a  still  higher  object  of  life  to  i/rqn'ove  the  spiritual 
condition  of  others — to  lead  them  to  the  enjoyment  of 
religion  in  this  life,  and  to  preparation  for  the  eternal 
world. 

There  is  no  difficulty  in  deciding  which  is  the  charac- 
ter that  meets  this  great  fend.  It  is  certainly  not  the 
ungodly  man.  The  whole  weight  of  his  -example  tends 
to  keep  people  from  being  religious.  Though  he  be 
comparatively  moral,  his  life  is  all  the  time  pleading 
against  heartfelt  piety.  He  is  apt  to  injure  most  those 
who  respect  and  admire  him  most.  His  respectability 
And  popularity  often  give  dreadful  potency  to  the- in- 
fluence of  his    irreligious   practices.     The    stupendous 


A  SERMON.  •  19 

realities  involved  in  influence,  are  not  appreciated.  Wliilo 
it  is  sure  that  every  man  receives  enougli  of  God's  grace 
to  leave  him  without  excuse,  if  he  fail  to  be  religious,  it 
is  equally  certain  that  God  invests  us -with  powers  with 
which  we  may  hless  or  injure  others  to  a  most  startling 
degree.     By  withholding  good  and  inculcating  evil  by 
precept  and  example,  a  man  may  become  verily  guilty 
of  the  sins  of  another,  as   though   he  committed   them 
himself;  and  he  may  incur  the  condemnation  of  Heaven 
for  all  the  injury  which  it^  occasioned  in  the    lives  of 
others  by  his  rebellious  and  degraded  life.     This  being 
true,  det  ev^ry  mind  consider  the  awful  amount  of  evil 
for  which  one  man  may  become  responsible.     Take  for 
example  one    who  indulges  in  intoxicating  beverages, 
and  encourages  others  to  do  so.     He.tn  all  probability 
causes  his  friends  and  associates  to  become  more  or  less 
dissipated — these  exert  the  same  baneful  influence  on 
others,  and  thus  the  revolting  vice  goes  on,  spreading  as 
a  dire  contagion,  while  years  on  years  expire.     He  who 
by  any  means  willfully  prevents  one  soul  from  embracing 
religion,  may  thereby  become   the  guilty    destroyer  of 
unnumbered   precious  souls.     Such  a  man  may  after- 
wards become  pious,  and  bewail  the  sad4njury  which  he 
has  inflicted  on  the  hearts  and  homes  of  those  that  were 
dear  to  him,  but  no  tears  can  then  check  or  cancel  what 
has  been  done.     He  finds    that    he  has    injured    some 
hearts  that  have  ceased  their  beating,  and  others  that 
are  bound  In  hopeless  servitude  to  the  prince  of  dark- 
ness.    Remember,  you  cannot  entirely  recall  influence 
once  exerted.     You  may  as  well  go  to  the  oak  that  the 
lightning  has  shivered,  and  seek  by^(5ur  tears  to  replace 


20  MYRTLE  LEAVES.- 

the  splintered  bougliSj  md  clotbe  them  in  green  foliage 
again.  You  trisy  as  well  stand  in  the  drear  garden  that 
the  frost  has  blightedj  and  call  to  the  withered  fiowers 
to  bloom  in  freshnesSj  and  the  decayed  fruitagej  to  put 
on  its  blushes  and  delight  the  eye  again.  You.  may  as 
well  pray  to  "  yesterday  "  to  return  and  be  as  though 
it  had  never  be£n=  You  may  as  well  stand  by  thegrave 
and  talk  to  the  dust  that  moulders  in  its  bosom.-  The 
past  is  past  forever.  Its  deeds  are  done  forever.  'Its 
examples  are  immortal.  It  is  vain  to  dream  of  arrest- 
ing the  march  of  its  influences.  Henee^  he  who  lives  in 
sin,  be  his  practices  what  they  may,  is  guilty  of  turning 
loose  junong  mankind  demons  of  evil  which  shall  stalk 
forth,  multiplying-:  their  numbers/  propagating  sorrow 
and  buffering,  and  destroying  forever  immortal  souls  for 
which  Jesus  died.  In  this,  the  sinner  is  like  a  man  who 
walks  through  a  prairie  with  a  great  torch  in  his  hand. 
Here  and  there  he  kindles  fires  just  to  see  the  blaze 
dance  through  the  high  grass,  regardless  of  the  sweet 
homes  that  are  around  hirn,  and  the  many  traveller 
whose  lives  ho  endangers.  The  wind  takes  up  the  fiame 
and  wafts  it  swifc  ly  away..  He  journeys  on,  and  may 
not  learn  again  the  career  of  those  fires,  but  that  does 
not  temper  their  fury.  Property  is  burned — homes  are 
corjSumt>d — sweet  fields  are  desolated— lives  are  destroy- 
ed— hearts  arebroken-7-innocence  suffers — and  orphans 
sorrow  in  their  far-off  homes.  Such  is  but  a  faint  illus- 
tration of  the  character  and  consequences  of  a  sinner's 
pilgrimage  through  the  fields  of  life.  May  God  have 
rnercy  on  the  man  wIk)  will  do  so  much  harm !' 

How.  differently  the  christian  makes  his  impress  !     His 
life  is  a  blessing  to  others.     God   gives  him  vast  en- 


A  SERMON.  21 

couragement  to  pray,  promising  that  his  prayer^  shall 
be  heard  and  answered  in  mercy.  Even  when  far  sep- 
arated from  his  friends,  he  can  interest  kind  Heaven 
for  them,  and  thus  minister  to  their  spiritual  wants.  By 
gentje  reproof,  tender  entreaty,  kindly  sympathy, 
cheering  encouragement,  and  faithful  counsel,  he  may 
almost  constantly  be  doing  good.  He  uses  the  meaiis 
of  helping  others  to  be  righteous,  which  God  has  de- 
signated, and  \diich  experience  has  signally  distinguish- 
ed for  centuries.  He  has  the  inspiring  assurance  that 
*- whatsoever  he  doeth  shall  pi*osper" — that  i^  due  sea- 
son he  shall  reap  if  he  faint  not  in  well-doing  ;  that  he 
shall  reap  what  he  soweth,  and  that  if  be  goeth  forth 
and  weepeth,  bearing  precious  seed,'  he  shall  doubtless 
return  again  with  rejoicing,  bringing  his  sheaves  with 
him.  If  it  were  necessary,  numerous  instances  of  the 
glorious  fulfillment  of  these  promises  could  be  given. 
Many  an  humble  christian  has  put  a  good  cause  in  opera- 
tion which  is  now  extending,  and  shall  roll  on  like  an 
increasing  current,  till  it  bears  to  glory  an  immortal 
million. 

But  the  all-absorbing  object  of  life  is  TO  prepare  roK 
ETERNITY.  To  die  is  a  necessity.  To  be  judged  by  the 
Lord  is  a  necessity.  To  exist  forever  in  misery  or  glory 
is  a  stupendous  necessity.  He  who  dies  without  faith 
in  the  Saviour,  fa'lls  under  a  sentence  of  death  that 
knows  no  modification  or  repeal  forever.  And  oh,  the 
nature  of  that  t?e«//i  /  The  mind  revolts  at  the  first 
thought  of  it.  Yet,  may  it  be  your  doom,  youthful 
sinner.  Early  and  perpetual  piety  is  the  only  safeguard 
against  it.     There  is   real  danger   that  you   may   die 


22  MYEILE    LEAVER 


^i^id 


young.,  If  you  be  not  a  christianj  then  all  the  chances 
of  early  death  are  dangers  of  early  and  eternal  destruc- 
tion. If  no  one  had  ever  died  young,  then  would  your 
confidence  and  fearlessness  bo  somewhat  more  excusable. 
But  you  are  warned  by  unnumbered  instances  of  death 
iu  youth  and  early  manhood.  If  the  continuance  of  life 
even  to  old  age  were  a  certainty,  still  would  it  be  terri- 
bly hazardous  to  defer  your  return  to  God.  If  you  re- 
fuse redeeming  mercy  now,  that  refusing,  will  soon  be- 
come a  confirmed  habit,  which  it  will  be  difficult  to  Qver- 
come.  It  will  be  strengthened  continually,  not  only  by 
its.  own  repetition,  but  by  the  concurrent  force  of  other 
sinful  habits.  Conscience,  like  a  slighted  and  bufFetted 
friend,  will  grow  more  and  more  silent,  and  may  at  last 
be  so  maltreated  as  to  fall  into  a  fatal  stupor.  The  tree 
which,  when  young,  was  swayed  by  the  zephyr,  grows 
so  strong,  that  the  storm  scarcely  shakes  it.  The 
branches  that  swung  to  and  fro  in  the  summer  gale  while 
they  caught  the  full  wind,  stand  almost  motionless  in 
the  tempest  after  their  leaves  are  fallen.  Sensibility 
^  diminishes  like  the  warm  vigor  of  youth,  and  it  is  a 
most  lamentable  fortune  to  learn,  by  experience,  that 
*'  the  want  of  feeling  is  the  worst  of  all  feeling."  To 
think  of  living  for  bright  long  years  in  the  constant 
danger  of  eternal  misery,  is  enough  to  constrain  the 
prompt  action  of  any  reasonable  being.  One  ought  to 
tremble  to  be  thus  exposed  for  one  hour  in  a  life -time. 
He  who  becomes  a  child  of  God  as  soon  as  he  can  learn 
his  duty,  and  continues  devoted  through  life,  is  the  only 
one  who  is  always  safe.  .  If  called  away  in  youth,  be 
^ihows  ihe  promise  of  a  uj^eful  and  nnblo  life.     If  spared 


A. SERMON".  ^o 

to  mature  years/the  good  prospects  are  still  multiply- 
ing, Tvhile  abundant  excellence  itJ.  constantly  developed. 
He  is  like  a  plant  of  the  tropics— always  blooming,  al- 
ways dropping  ripe  fruits,  while  ether  fruitsij  are  always 
maturing.  Such  a  soul  is  ever  ready  for  the  spirit 
voyage.  When  it  launches,  it- will  sail  well,  and  will 
anchor  in  peace  and  triiiiiiph  at  the  port  of  glory. 

it  rejoices  my  heart  to  say  that  all  of  these  grand 
aims  of  life  were,  in  great  measure,  accomplished  by 
our  dear  young  friend,  James  AV.  llarriss.  He  em- 
braced religion  during  a  revival  at  Trinity  College  in 
1855,  being  then  in  his  seventeenth  year.-  Had  it  been 
sooner,  it  would  have  been  better.  He  departed  this 
life  on  the  morning  of  the  28th  of  June,  1860.  Per- 
adventure,  some  will  conclude  that  as  his  life  was  brief, 
it  could  not  have  been  productive  of  any  remarkable 
results.     To  such,  I  answer  : 

"  Virtue,  not  rolling  suns,  ihc  mind  matures, 

That  lifu  is  long,  wliicii  airswors  Tile's  great  otid, 

The  time  tliut  bears  no  fruit  deserves  no  name, 

The  man  of  wlsdcWii  is  tiie  man  of  years, 

In  hoary  youth  Mothusalohs  may  die, 

Oh,  how  misdated  on  their  flattering  tombs." 

The  misfortune  is,  that  the  value  ol  youih  is  not  ap- 
preciated. All  are  too  prone  to  separate  it  from  the 
idea  of  actual  usefulness.  The  opinion  seems  to  preyail, 
that  while  we  are  young,  we  are  at  liberty  to  shun  the 
great  duties  which  crowd  around  us.  Against  such  an 
opinion,  we  are  admonished '  that  youth  may  be  all  of 
life  to  us,  and  that  if  so,  if  we. fulfill  the  purposes  of  our 
existence  at  all,  we  must  be  prompt  and  active  now; 
and,  furthermore,  the  brilliant  examples  of  such  men  as 
McKenzie,  Mavtyn  and  Bi-ainerd„  inspire. us  with  hope 


24  MYETLE  LEAVES. 

and  reconcile  us  to  the  dangers  of  an  earlj  falL     Hence, 
let  no  one  doubt  the  rich  success  of  the   life  of  our  de- 
parted brother   because    it   "v^aS   not   long.     Life   was 
-pleasant  to  him.     He  had    the   right   disposition/ con- 
trolled bj  the  right  principles,  to  qualify  him  for  the 
innocent  pleasures  of  the  world.     The  serenity  of  hi^ 
countenance  told  us  of  the   sweet   complacency   of  his 
soul.     Being  almost  a  stranger  to  wickedness,  he  never 
knew  much  of  the  uneasiness  and  trouble  incident  to 
ungodly  conduct.     In  his-  remembered  smiles,   in   his 
cheerful  conversation,  in  his  amiable "  pleasantry,  and  in. 
the  well-tempered  interest  which  he  manifested  in  the 
harmless  enjoyments  of  life,    we  saw  that   his   gentle 
^spirit  was  governing  itself  by  the  standard  which  God 
has  instituted  for  the  use  of  the  blessings  of  this  world. 
He  also  made  the  lives  of  others  happier.     Surely  no 
, one  conld  associate  with  such  a.  spirit  without  pleasur- 
able feelings.     By  the  enghaining  suavity  of  his  man- 
ners he  very  soon  won  the  affection  of  his  acqaintances 
and  never  failed  to  preserve  it.     I  can  never  forget  the 
genial  welcome  he  gave  me  when  we  met  for  the  first 
time.     We  were  strangers  then,  but  he  greeted  me  like 
a  loving  friend.     It  was  not  politeness  or  fashion  mere- 
ly—it was  the  sincere  kindness  of  a  true-hearted  chris- 
tian.    To  the  loved  ones  at  homo  he   was   an   embodi- 
ment of  pleasantness  and  affection.     The   warm  solici- 
tude ot  his  relatives  and  friends  during  his  illness  plainly 
testified  that  he  rendered  life   dearer   to  them  all.     It 
was  his  good  pleasure  to  minister   to    the    convenience 
and  comfort  of  others.     It  would  be  diflficult  to  find  one 
who  has  more   uniformly    gratified   and   delighted   his 


A  SERMON.  25 

I  friends.     Even  in  tlie  hours. of  hfs  last   sickness  he  was 

;^  thoughtful  of  the  welfare  of  those  around   him.     His 

family  and  his  visitors,  all  felt   that  their   fortune  here 

was  sweeter  and  better  because  of  his  endearing  society. 

He  brought  blessings  to  others  in  a  spiritual  sense.  , 
His  example  was  a  saving  one.  Holy  impressions  arose, 
and  spread  from  his  quiet  life  like  the  fragrance  of 
flowers  on  the  breeze  of  the  morning.  Naturally  gentle 
and  retiring,  he  nrnde  no  display  ii»  his  efforts  to  do 
good.  While  in  College  he  was  a  warm  counsellor  of 
his  companions,  remonstrating  against  wildncss  and  dis- 
sipation. In  Petersburg,  where  he  engaged  in  business 
after  leaving  College,  his  christian  deportment  was  a 
constant  rebuke  to  the  wicked,  and  an  eloq^uent  and  im- 
pressive appeal  to  the  hearts  of  his  acquaintances.  They 
felt  tliie  force  of  his  pious  walk.  One  like  him  doefi 
much  good  that  the  world  never  rocognizos.  His  Op- 
portunities for  usefulness  were  neither  signal  nor 
abundant, -yet  in  this  respect  he  is  not  without  glorious 
rewrd.  By  his  wise  and  holy  adraonitiom?'  during  his 
last  days,  he  accomplished  much  that  rejoices  his  friends. 
His  ministers  are  the  better  and  will  be  the  more  suc- 
cessful for  having  known  him.  Hi's  parents  and  sisters 
received  a  fresh  baptism  of  holy  fire  under  the  sanctified 
power  of  his  saintly  triumph.  God  honored  the  faith- 
ful exhortiitions  of  his  pale  lips  by  giving  hi'm  seals  to 
his  ministry  from  the  sacred  circle  of  his  relations.  He 
was  so  meek  and  resigned  and  ready  that  the  uncon- 
verted looked  upon  him  as  an  unanswerable  vindication 
of  the  ti'uth  and  el^cellence  of  the  religion  of  the  Saviour. 
Their  salvation  is  vastly  more   probable   because  they 


26  MYRTLE   LEAVES. 

knew  him — saw  him — heard  him.  And  oh,  those  lively 
and  pathetic  admonitions  that  he  uttered  not  long  be- 
fore he  departed  !  *  Are  *-  they  lost  ?  Is  there  no  im- 
pression left  by  them  on  the  fond  sorrowing  hearts  that 
received  them  ?  Thank'  God  !  such  thing«  never  perish. 
Their  effect  will  be  glorious  forever.  Flowers  may  droop 
in  the  border,  water  may  fail  in  the  fountain,  beauty 
may  fade  from  the  lovely,  gold  may  depart  from  the 
coffer,  jewels  may  fall  from  the  crown,  pleasures  may 
die  in  the  bosom,  honors  may  perish  like  blossoms, 
friends  may  die  or  desert  us,  loved  ones  may  moulder 
in  sepulchres,  and  the  stars  may  be  hurled  from  the 
heavens ;  but  the  words  which  are  spoken  for  Jesus,  the 
prayers  which  are  offered  in  confidence,  the  deeds  which 
are  done  for  salvation,  are  all  full  of  the  spirit  of 
Heaven,  shall  be  fostered  by  ministering  angels,  shall 
themselves  be  angels  of  mercy,  shall  live,  while  a  mortal  ^ 
is  living,  shall  shine  with  resplendence  at  the  Judgment, 
and  stamped  with  immortality,  shall  at  last  become 
jewels  in' the  golden  crowns  of  the  ransomed.  Thii^e 
hallowed  words,  those  inspired  admonitions  of  his,  Shall 
not  perish.  Though  they  be  forgotten,  yet  shall  they 
live. 

As  his  end  drew  near,  aftei-  disposing  of  souvenirs  to 
liis  friends;  he  requested  that  the  mon^y  in  his  purs-c 
should  be  given  to  the  Missionary  Cause.  How  beauti- 
ful was  this  dying  offering  !  It  teaches  us  where  his 
heart  was,  and  we  pray  and  trust  that  God  will  own  and 
prosper  the  gift.  He  also  requested  his  father,  when  it 
should  be  practicable,  to  build  a  hous#  of  worship  in  an 
adjacent  community,    whose    peo|>lc    were  not  al)le    to 


A  SERMON.  27 

build  a  Buitable  one  for  themselves.  Here  T\e  have  rich 
cause  for  rejoicing  in  the  prospect  of  his  usefulness. 
'  Go,  build  that  church  !  It  shall  be  his  monument.  Let 
it  bear  his  name  !  Place  a  cenotaphs  there  that  shall 
tell  to  those  vfho  gather  around  its  altar,'  how  the  piety 
of  a  young  and  noble  soul  in  the  death-liQur  remember- 
ed the  spiritual  interests  of  his  neighbT)rs,  and  by  one 
consecrated  request,  thus  established  a  mighty  instru- 
mentality for  their  salvation.  '  There  he,  though  dead, 
shall  speak.  Thel-e  shall  he,  though  in  Heaven,  bless 
humafiity  and  glorify  God  on  earth.  The  songs  and 
prayers  and  sermons  of  that  church  shall  be  the  trophies 
of  his  fidelity  and  righteousness-  The  converts  of  that 
^Itar  shalj  bless  his  memory  and  honor  and  cherish  hfin 
as  the  instruiT^cnt  of  their  eternal  happiness.  There 
many  shall  be  saved,  and  of  them  shall  rise  up  ministers, 
who  shall  bear  the  glad  tidings  to  other  churches  and 
other  people  ;  and  thus  the  whitewinged  seed;  which  was 
first  nurtured  in  one  young  heart,  shall  be  multiplied 
and  scattered  over  new  fields — distant  fields — ever- 
widening  fields,  until  time  is  ended  and  the  angels  of 
the  Lord  shall  shout  the  *niarvest  Home."  Oh,  I 
would  rather  build  a  churcli  than  build  a  pyramid. 
I'd  rather  be  the  builder  of  a  church  than .  the  founder 
of  the  proudest  dynasty  of  earth.  Of.  course,  when  he 
had  lived  so  well  he  was  ready  to  die.  He  worked  out 
his  salvation  with  fear  and  trembling  before  God. 

In  his  more  immediate    decline,  he  gave  the    most 
gratifying- evidences  tiiat  all  was  well.     Sometimes  he«» 
appeared  anxious  to  depart  and  be  with  the  Lord.     Said 
he  at  one  time,  '^' Pa,   I  tliought  I  should  be  afraid   to 


28  MYRTLE  LEAVES. 

die."  Hifc  fear  vas  lost  in  faith  and  love.  On  asking 
me  to  pray  for  bim,  which  he  frequently  did  in  his  last 

days,  he  once  said — *'now  Bro.  M ,  I  want  you  to 

offer  me  up."  1  ^marked  to  him,  "it  will  not  be  long 
before  we  all  pass  over  the  ri\*er;"  and  he  replied — "I 
wish  I  was  on, the  Bridge  now."  That  was  a  touching 
nnd  sublime  senti"nient  of  bis,  "mother,  father,  ^sisters, 
brothers,  hnt- God  first.''  To  his , mother  he  repeated 
those  precious  lines  : 

"  Bright  angele  art-  from  'glory  come, 

They're  round  tny  bed,,  they're  in  uiy  rooui,         * 

Thov  Wiiit  to  waft  my  spirit  hoiiie,       / 

To  those  who  are  bereaved  in- his  death,  let  me  say — 
fchcd  no  bitter  tears  for  him.  If  you  weep  at  aU,  shed 
tears  that  are  sweet  with  gratitude  and  *hope.  "His 
spirit  drinks  new  life  and  light,  'mid  bowers  of  endless 
bloom:"  Whenever  you  think  of  him,  think  also  of  his 
blissful  home  in  the  skies,  and  pray  and  truyt  that  at 
the  last  you,  too,  may  triumph  and  join  him  in  Heaven 
to  part  no  more.  To  his  friends  and  to  all.  I  devoutly 
recommend  the  example  of  his  life,  earnestly  praying 
that  they  may  not  delay  to  give  tlioir  hearts  to  the 
Saviour,  that  they  too  may  accomplish  i\\<\  momentous 
purposes  of  life  and  roign  with  him 'and  all  the  whke- 
robcd  ransomed  in  the  happy  and  glorious  City  of  God  I 


€^e  l^olg  ^j^icltJ. 


'•How  fileop  the  brave  who  sink  to  r<58l. 
By  all  their  country's  wishes  blest  ? 
When  Spring  with  dewy  fingers  cold, 
Returns  to  decH  their  hallowed  mould, 
She  there  shall  dress  a  sweeter  sod, 
Than  Fancy's  feet  have  ever  trod, 

By  fairy  hands  thnir  knell  is  rung,         ^ 

By  forms  unseen  their  dirge  is  sung  ;         , 

There  Honor  comes,  a  pilgrim  gray, 

To  bles3  the  turf  that  wraps  their  clay, 

And  Freedom  shall  awhile  repair 

To  dwell  a  weeping  hermit  there."  • 

Among  those  who  promptly  repponded  to  the  first  cati 
of  our  country  in  the    struggle  for  independence,  was 

Lieut.  M ,  of  Orange  county,  North  Carolina. — 

He  joined  the  6th  N.  C.  Regiment,  under  the  bi'avo  and 
lamented  Colonel  Fisher.  While  the  regiment  was  in 
the  camp  of  ins^truction,  I  visited  the  beautiful  and  hap- 
py home  which  he  had  exchanged  for  the  tented  field. 
The  warm,  true  hearts  he  had  left  behind  him  were  re- 
signed and  hopeful — though  affection  would  whisper  to 
thern  of  the.  trials  ho  would  suffer,  and  the  dangers  he 
would  meet.  When  I  was  leaving,  a  loving  and  piou^i 
sister  said,  '^Preston  tells  me  that  his  Bible  i*s  too  larofi 
to  be, carried- in  his  breast-pocket,  and  I  wib'h  you  to 
procure  a  small,  neat  Testament  for  him  before  he  leaves 
for  Virginia.  Bibles  have  (nimed  hallif,  and  tnay  da  8o 
again.''  I  promisUed  to  conaply — au-i  then  with  a  smile, 


.^n  MYRTLE   LEAVE?. 

which  betrayed  a  sister's  love  and  a  Christian's  faith, 
she  bade  me  adieu.  In  my  effort  to  obtain  a  suitable 
Testament,  1  was' unsuccessful,  and  the  young  soldier 
kept  the  Bible  as  his  companion  in  the  dread  trials 
which  were  before  him.  A  few  days  only  passed  away, 
ere  he  and  his  comrades  were  marshalled  in  the  battle's 
front  on  the  Plains  of  Manassas.  When  the  charge  was 
•ordered,  he  bravely  passed  to  the  onset,  and  with  waving 
sword  and  thrilling  voice,  cheered  and  rallied  the  hero- 
ic column  as  it  staggered  before  the  fiery  storm.  Ere 
long,  while  standing  by  a  battery  from  which  the  enemy 
had  been  driven,  he  was  seen  to  raise  his  hand  sudden- 
ly to  his  breast,  then  to  stager  and  fall.  A  ball  had 
struck  him.  He  was  borne  from  the  field  to  the  hospi^ 
tal,  and  after  a  slight  examination  pronounced  mortally 
wounded.  The  surgeon,  however,  discovered  that  the 
hz]\  had  sti'uek  his  Bible,  and  its  force  and  direction 
seemed  to  have  been  so  affected  by  it,  that  he  was  saved 
from  insfatit  death.  When  this  was  known,  how  thank> 
fulwas  she  who  o-ave  him  that  blessed  volume!  And 
how  I  rejoiced  that  I  could  not  find  a- Testament,  for 
that  would  have  been  so  small  that  it  might  not  have 
shielded  his  heart !  In  this  we  saw  the  hand  of  the 
Father,  and  were  thankful.  But  the  wound  was  fatal, 
and  when  the  battle's  enthusiasm  was  over,  he  feared 
that  he  would  not  recover.  It  was  then  that  as  he 
looked  within  his  bosom,  he  realized  his  need  of  the  sym- 
pathy of  a  greater  than  man.  Amid  the  confusion  and 
tumult  and  suffering  around  him,  he  earnestly  looked  to 
the  Mercy-Seat,  and  through  the  merits  of,  his  Saviour, 
leaned  his  spirit  on  the  bosom  of  Infiaite  Love.     As  his 


THE   HOLY   SHIELD.  31 

mortal  life  was  ebbing  out  at  that  ghastly  wound  on  his 
.  breast,  eternal  life  came  to  him  through  the  mercy  of 
Heaven,  as  it  healed  the  wounds  of  -his  soul.  Watch- 
ing by  his  death-couch  I  heard  words  of  triumph  from  his 
panting  lips  that  it  is  very  sweet  to  remember.  Those 
words  were  made  more  beautiful  and  eloquent  by'  the 
spirit-splendor  which  beamed  in  his  dark  eye,  and  spread 

like  celestial  radiance  over  his  calm  and  manly  face. 

He  told  me  that  he  had   been  pardoned  since  he  was 
wounded.     "I  believe,"  said  he,  ''lam  numbered  amonc^ 
those  who  are  embraced  in  His  mercy."     With  meltino- 
emphasis  he  quoted  some  stanzas  of  poetry— a  farewell 
address  to  his  distant  mother.     But  a  short  time  before 
he  died,   he  turned   to  his  faithful    servant  and  said 
"There  is  a  land  where  the  wicked  cease  from  troublino* 
and  the  weary  are  at  rest."     None  but  those  who  heard 
him  can  ever  know  what  deep  and  powerful  meaning  he 
gave  those  precious  words.     He  spoke  like  one  who  had 
fled  to  that  refuge,  and  was  already  reclining,  on  the 
bosom  of  that  heavenly  rest.     It  was  far  more  like  the 
voice  of  experience  than  the  voice  of  faith. 

So  talented,  so  heroic,  so  kind — it  was  sad  to 
strangers  to  see  him  die — 'twas  sadder  far  for  the  friend 
who  had  joined  him  in  the  pleasures  of  boyhood,  and 
shared  with  him  the  sacred  dreams  of  youth  !  He  has 
fallen  in  the  first  of  his  fields,  but  he  has  not  fallen  for- 
evei*.  • 

"He  sleeps  his  last  sleep— he  has  fought  his  last  battle," 
bu  t  it  cannot  be  said  of  him  that 

"No  sound  can  awake  him  to  glory  again  ;" 
for  in  that  day  of  the  victory*  of  the  ransomed  over  the 


82  MYRTLK   LEAVKH. 

last  and  greatest  foe,  lie  shall  be  suinmoried  to  tlie 
shining  ranks  by  the  celestial  clarion,  and  be  crowned 
with  honors  which   shall  be  increasing  in  rapture   and 

glory,  ■         ' 

'When  victors'  wreaths  and  monarchs'  gems 
Shall  blend  in  common  dust." 

This  assurance  is  sacredly  cherished  by  the  bereaved 
and  riven  hearts  that  Btill  weep  by  his  tomb.  There  i» 
no  genuine  balm  in  any  other  thought.  We  would  have 
our  friends  and  kindred  fall,  if  fall  they  must,  la  their 
country's  defence,  with^  name  unsullied  and  honor  un- 
dimmed ;  but  more  patriotism  ai\d  daring  cannot  shed 
the  light  of  immortal  hope  above  their  slumbering  dust, 
or  lead  their  nSble  spirits  to  a  Kome  of  everlasting  hap= 
piness.  It  is  well  to  receive  the  laurel-wreath  for  devo- 
tion to  a  just  and  righteous  cause—  it  isinfitiltely  better 
to  be  crowni'd  with  the  chaplet  of  immortality  in  a  land 
v,b03e  honors  perish  not  forever. 

There  3^3u'll  meet  him  again,  dear  "mother"  wnd  "sisters," 
Whore  iho  war  cry  will  call  him  away,  never  more  ; 
Wh'/re  the  rude  suund  of  battle  forever  is  silencwl, 
Wh  re  you'll  know  him  aj:d  h-ve  him  as  you  have  ht.^jolofore. 

M'e  kuow  Lhut  Uie  household  is  dreary  wiihovit  him. 
And  the  chain  1%  r  ow  broken  of  fond,  earthly  love  ; 
But  the  links  th:it  are  severeO.  will  be  reunited 
In  Heaven,  r-.vveT  Keavenj  that  bright  home  aboTo, 


^i)t  Bream  ofjpait^. 


I  came  from  the  churchyard,  where  I  had  just  seen 
them  place  a  beloved  friend  in  the  tomb.  Everything 
looked  sad  to  me..  Shadows  settled  upon  the  flowers 
and  the  sunshine.  Every  object  was  mantled  with  a 
solemn  gloom.  My  soul  was  unquiet — I  could. not  rest. 
I  wandered  away  to  the  grove  and  sat  down  beneath  a 
large  oak,  whose  shade  had  fallen,  in  better  days,  on 
many  a  scene  of  pleasure,  which  I  had  shared  with  him 
who  was  now  no  more.  Recollections  of  the  past  clus 
tered  thickly  around  me.  The  little  streamlet  ran  mer- 
rily on  as  before,  and  the  birds  on  the  green  boughs 
above  me,  sang  as  sweetly  as  ever ;  but  their  joyousncss 
only  rendered  my  sadness  more  depressing,  and  soon  I 
thought,  that  even  the  rippling  of  the  waters  and  warb- 
ling of  the  birds  fell  plaintive  and  dirge-like  on  my  ear. 
I  wept  while  I  remembered.  I 'wept  that  I  had  lost  so 
much.  I  wept  that  one  so  innocent  and  loved  should 
have  suffered  so  much,  and  died  so  soon. 

^Vith  tears  still  standing  on  my  cheek,  a  strange  en- 
chantment gathered  over  my  soul,  and  I  dreamed.  It 
was  not  the  freak  of  a  wayward  fancy  sporting  over 
slumbering  reason  ;  it  was  a  dream  in  which  fancy  and 
reason  went  together  and  took  truth  for  their  guide. 

T  etood   in  the  centre  of  a  vast  and  terrible  hall— » 
4 


3i  MYRTLE   LEAVjESt 

Prom  the  hideous  objects  and  spectacles  around  me,  I 
thought  it  was  a  grand  hospital  for  the  -world.  I  was 
shocked  and  frightened.  I  gazed  around,  bewildered 
and  shuddering,  and  was  seeking  a  way  to  escaj  e,  when 
I  saw  a  white-robed  being,  with  a  sweet,  T;miling  face, 
approaching  me.  There  was  something  in  her  look  so 
gentle  and  enchaining,  that  I  was  instantly  spell-bound, 
and  almost  forgot  the  frightful  circum.stances  around 
me.  I  saw  that  she  would  s^peak,  and  I  listened.  A 
thought  of  heaven  came,,  when  she  spoke ;  her  voice 
Bounded  so  unearthly,  so  mellifluous.  Fixing  her  ten- 
der eyes  upon^e,  she  said:  ''I  saw  that  you  were  af- 
frighted and  confounded,,  my  child,  and  I  have  come  to 
appease  your  fears  pnd  explain  the  mystery  of  this 
dreadful  picture.  I  am  the  Angel  of  Mercy,  and  this 
is  the  Temple  of  Affliction.  In  order  that  you  may 
appreciate  the  knowledge  I  am  about  to  impart,  it  is 
necessary  that  you  bear  with  me,  while- 1  rehearse  to 
you  some  of  the  dealings  of  the  Father  of  love  with  his 
creatur>s,  throughout  past  ages.  It  is  through  his  mer- 
cy that  man  is  blessed  with  ^religion,  but,  strange  to 
Bay,  that  religion  which  is  destined  to  deliver  man  from 
evil  and  sufiering,  is,  in^  a  high  sense,  the  child  of  trou- 
ble— the  daughter  of  sorrow  and  trial.  The  Lord, 
manifestng  the  worthlessness  of  the  niftrtal  when  con- 
trasted with  that  which  sliall  live  forever,  and  inculca- 
ting the  truth  that  the  earthly  is  only  valuable  in  pro- 
portion as  it  is  used  to  secure  the  heaven'y,  has  intro- 
duced, established,  and  promulgated  the  truths  which 
concern  the  soul,  through  sacrifice  and  suffering  as  fa- 
vorite means.     Do   you  remember   the  history  of  the 


THB   DREAM  OF   FAITH.  95 

Church  of  God  ? .  The  Father  of  the  faithful  was  or- 
dered to  make  an  offering  of  a  dear  child  in  whom  his 
fondest  hope  and  affection  were  centred.  To  have  giv- 
en him  up  to  be  slain  by  another  would  have  been  too 
much  for  a  parent's  heart ;  but,  worse  than  this,  he  was 
commanded  to  deal  the  death-blow  himself.  Oh,  what 
were  the  pangs  of  that  old  man's  breast !  and  what  the 
anguish  and  despair  of. the  youth  as  the  father's  strong 
arm  caught  him,  pressed  him  upon  the  altar,  and  bound 
the  cords  fast  around  him  !  It  was  not  till  the  father 
had  taken  the  knife  to  pierce  the  sacrifice,  that  the  an- 
gel called  to  him  out  of  Heaven,  and  bade  him  do  his 
child  no  harm. 

"Years  passed  away,  and  the  son  of  this  rescued  boy 
was  called  to  moufn  in  hopeless  sorrow  over  the  death 
(as  he  thought)  of  his  fcivorite  son.  This  son  was  sold 
by  cruel  brethren  into  the  hands  of  strangers.  In  the 
morning,  he  was  the  idol  of  a  fond  parent's  love,  and 
the  happy  recipient  of  all  the  joys  of  a  pleasant  home  ; 
in  a  few  short  hours,  he  was  torn  away  from  the  scenes 
and  friends  he  loved,  and  boi^ie  by  the  heartless  o"ver 
the  desert  sands  and  sold  into  cruel  bondage.  But 
Heaven  withheld  its  bounties,  and  there  was  a  famine 
in  the  land  of  his  father.  His  brethren  were  sent  to 
Egypt  to  obtain  supplies.  Meanwhile,  though  highly 
honored,  he  suffered  some  severe  crosses  and  trials.  In 
th^  course  of  a  few. years,  this'  visit  was  followed  by  the 
sore  and  galling  servitude  of  all  Israel  to  the  yoke  of 
the  Egyptians — by  fiery  and  destructive  plagues  among 
their  oppressors — by  the  overthrow  of  king  and  subjects, 
by  the  ayengiug  wavei  of  the  sea,  and  by  all  th©  diffi- 


86  MTRTLB- LEAVES. 

cuUies,  privations,  struggles,  dangers,  and  calamities  of 
the  pilgrimage  to  the  Holy  Land.  Here  and  there  les- 
sons of  divine  truth  were  written  with  blood  on  the 
desert  sands,  and  the  graves  of  the  faithless  proclaimed 
the  power,  justice  and  terror  of  the  Lord.  When  the 
tribes  had  reached  the  promised  Canaan,  their  history 
was  still  marked  by  ifiany  bloody  conflicts  and  misfor- 
tunes, by  overthrows  and  captivities.  Many  of  them, 
and  especially  their  prophets,  were  ruthlessly  maltreated. 
They  were  subjected  to  poverty,  humiliation,  cruelties, 
and  martyrdom.  They  suffered  the  hate  and  injuries 
of  the  nations  ai-ound  them,  simply  because  they  were 
the  chosen  people  of  the  true  God,  and  would  not  re- 
nounce their  faith.  Some  were  Hortured,  not  accepting 
deliverance.'  ^Others  had  trial  of  cruel  mockings  and 
scourgings,  yea,  moreover,  of  bonds  and  imprisonment ; 
they  were  stoned,  they  were  sawn  agunder,  were  tempt- 
ed, were  slain  with  the  sword ;  they  wandered  about  in 
sheepskins  and  goatskins,  being  destitute,  afflicted,  tor- 
mented ;  they  wandered  in  deserts  and  in  mountains, 
and  in  dens  and  caves  of  the  earth. 

"Thus,  you  see,  that  the  Church  floated  for  centuries 
upon  the  tears  and  blood  of  her  children.  Thus  it  was 
till  Jesus  came.  Now,  mark  the  history  of  the  Redeem- 
er, and  the  Church  after  his^  death. 

"He  was  born  in  a  manger.  While  yet  an  infant,  his 
parents  were  forced  to  flee  in  anxiety  and  trouble,  and 
bear  him  off  from  the  bloodthirsty  miscreants  whom 
Herod  sent  to  slay  him.  His  ministry  was  one  of  sac-- 
rlfice  and  affliction,  both  of  body  and  spirit,  llovf  long 
he  fftsted  and  yraytd  in  the  wild©rne«i  I     How  the  jpeo- 


THB   IVUBAM   OF   FAITH.  87 

pile  reviled  him  and  persecuted  him  !  See  him  in  tho 
anguished  writhings  of  Gethsemane  as  his  *soul  is  ex- 
cfefeding  sorrowful,  even  unto  death  !*  Behold  him  con- 
demned, though  innocent,  at  the  bar  of  Pilate,  and  mark 
the  crown  of  thorns,  the  mock  sceptre,  tho  spitting  and 
scourging,  the  toilsome,  fainting  ascent  of  Calvary,  and 
the  horrible  tragedy  on  the  cross  ! 

"  His  apostles  and  disciples  suffered  much  before  he 
was  taken  from  tliem  ;  but  their  trials  were  greater  when 
he  was  gone.  It  was  a  dark  and  dreadful  season  with 
them  while  he  slept  in  the  sepulchre,  and  they  thought 
their  hopes  were  buried  with  him  forever.  They  after- 
wards mef  witk  relentless  opposition,  oppression,  ^nd 
persecution  wherever  they  w'ent.  They  were  frequent- 
ly reviled,  slandered,  cursed,  hated,  scourged,  imprison- 
ed, sioned,  burned,  crucified,  beheaded.  The  same  was 
the  fate  of  the  faithful  for  many  years  ;  and  while  in 
some  places  the  standard  of  Christ  was  respected,  in 
others  it  was  a  badge  of  shame  and  death.  On  through 
these  years — through  the  -Reformation  and  other  blood- 
marked  eras — this  standard  was  borne  by  bleeding  and 
dying  hands.  Those  who  have  achieved  anything  in 
the  blessed  warfare,  have  been  forced  to  yield  to  toil 
and  tribulation.  Home  and  friends  have  been  deserted 
by  thousands.  Peace  and  quiet,  and  health  and  wealth, 
have  all  been  offered  up. 

"  The  blessings  of  the  Christian  Religion,  therefore, 
are  trophies  which  were  won  by  the  noble,  through  the 
help  of  God,  from  fire  and  storm." 

The  voice  of  the  angel  trembled  frequently,  during 
this  narration,  and  occasionally  beautiful  tears  sparkled 


SS  MTRTLl    LEATBa. 

in  her  eyes  and  floTred  down  her  cheeks.  She  paused 
at  the  conclusion  of  the  above  sentence,  and  with  a  fold 
of  her  pure  robe,  she  slowly  wiped  away  the  tears,  a&d 
heaving  a  soft  sigh  which  seemed  to  give  relief,  she  re- 
sumed:  "Now,  my  child,  you  can  better  " understand 
what  means  this  Temple  of  Aflliction.  Xjod  is  yet  super- 
intending all  things,  and  bringing  good  out  of  evil. — 
Here  you  see  the  .afflictions  of  those  who  are  yet  in  the 
sphere  of  my  influence,  and  may,  if  they  will,  lay  up 
for  themselves  treasure  in  Heaven.  Considered  in  both 
a  general  and  particular  sense,  God's  providence  is 
transforming  this  bitterness  and  torture.  These  walls 
are  built  of  the  tombstones,  and  the  boaes  of  those  who 
have  fallen  in  the  service  of  God.  The  basement  bor 
neath  us  is  the  mammoth  cave  of  death,  made  of  the 
graves  of  the  faithful.  Its  covering  is  a  cloud  of  gjoom, 
composed  of  the  shadows  and  darkness  and  palls  which 
have  been  produced  by  the  sorrows  of  the  people  of 
God.  Tho  curtains  in  the  windows,  and  the  banner 
that  floats  from  its  dismal  dome,  are  the  drapery  of 
mourning  and  the  winding-sheets  of  the  dead.  The 
flowers  and  pictures  and  trappings  which  adorn  it,  are 
painted  with  the  blood  which  has  been  wrung  from  hearts 
by  violence  and  woe.  There  is  a  vast  machinery  in  the 
whole  building,  whose  wheels  arc  built  out  of  blasted 
hopes,  withered  joys,  and  broken  hearts.  These  wheeli 
are  driven  by  a  stream  of  tears,  which  rolls  its  wild  cur- 
rent through  tho  base.  The  din  which  you  hear  is  the 
mingled  sighs  and  groans,  and  cries  and  shrieks  of  the 
struggling  and  unfortunate.  All  over  this  Temple  are 
victims  of  misery,  misfortune,  and  death.     Yet,  strange 


THE  DREAM  01?  FAIin.  39 

though  it  feeem,  God  is  here,  and  all  these  are  yet  hles3« 
ed  with  his  sympathy.  Do  you  wonder?  Then  know, 
that  though  this  is  the  Temple  of  Affliction,. it  is  like- 
Vfiso  a  birthplace,  a  fountain  of  glory.  The  Father 
brought  no  sin  or  evil  into  the  world,  but  now  that  they 
are  here  through  man's  disobedience,  He  is  bringing 
glory  out  of  them,  by  using  them  to  secure  man's  hap- 
piness. 'Behold,  happy  is  the  man  whom  the  Lord 
correcteth ;  therefore,  despise  not  thou  the  chastening" 
of  the  Almighty ;  for  he  maketh  sore  and  bindeth  up  ; 
he  woundeth,  and.  his  hands  make  whole,'  and  many  "a 
tongue  has  been  heard  to  say  in  tones  of  grateful  sub- 
mission, *  It  is  good  for  me  that  I  have  been  afflicted.' 

''Midst  pleasure,  plenty,  and  success, 

freely  you  take  from  Hiiii  who  lends  j 
You  boast  ihe  bles^^ings  you  possess, 

But  scarcely  thanic  the  One  who  sends; 
But  let  affliction  pour  its  smart, 

How  soon  you  quail  b  neath  the  rod ! 
With  shattered  pride  and  prostrate  heart, 

You  seek  the  long  forgotten  God.' 

''  It  is  the  peculiar  province  of  the  Christian  to  *  de- 
ny himself  and  take  up  his  cross.'  He  suffers  here  that 
he  may  rejoice  hereafter ;  for  though  there  is  no  abso- 
lute merit  in  suffering,  yet  if  it  be  properly  borne  -and 
profited  by,  it  will  prove  a  blessing  in'^the  end. 

"  A  great  and  good  Christian  said  to  his  fellow  pil- 
grims, '  Our  light  affliction,  which  is  but  for  :'^'^  ment, 
worketh  for  us  a  far  more  exceeding  and  cteni.-l  weight 
of  glory.'  Now  that  is  a  wonderful  truth,  and  explains 
still  further  what  you  behold.  Affliction  woiks  oat  glo- 
ry.    Light  affliction  works  out  a  wcigld  of  glory — an 


40  MYRTLE   LEAVES. 

exceeding  tveinht — afar  more  exceeding  weight  of  glory. 
A  nioment's  light  affliction  tvorJcs  out  an  eternity  of  a 
far  more  exceeding  weight  of  glory.  .  Let  every  Chris- 
tian, therefore,  exclaim,  'I  take  pleasure  in  infirmities, 
in  reproaches,  in  necessities,  in  persecutions,  in  distres- 
ees  for, Christ's  sake,  for  the  sufierings  of  th,e  present 
time  are  not  worthy  to  be  compared  with  the  glory 
that  shall  be  revealed  in  us.'  Are  you  not  willing  to 
sigh — ;if  that  sigh  shall  echo  forever  to  the  joy  of  your 
soul  in  the  music  of  heaven  ?  Will  you  not  gladly  bear 
a  few  piercing  pains,  to  have  those  pains  succeeded  by 
the  deathless  raptures  of  eternal  life  ?  Can  you  not 
look  calmly  and  resignedly  on  the  tombs  of  ffiends, 
when  you  thii^k,  that  those  tombs  are  agents  for  the 
court  of  heaven,  and  while  they  rob  an  earthly  home, 
may  fill  a  mansion  in  the  skie^  forever  ?  Oh,  my  child, 
thank  God  for  his  severe  as  well  as  his  tender  dispensa- 
tions, for  rightly  understood,  he  means  them  all  for 
mercies." 

Here  the  angel  paused  again,  and  she  lifted  her  eyes 
towards  heaven,  while  a  strange  yet  lovely  brightness 
flashed  upon  her  features.  She  smiled  too,  as  though 
her  words  had  met  responsive  sympathies  from  saints 
or  aagels  in  the  skies.  Once  more  she  spoke,  "Come 
nearer,  my  child !"  I  stepped  forward  and  stood 
close  by  her  side.  "Now  look  up  !"  she  said.  I  turned 
my  gaze  upward,  but  saw  nothing  but  the  black  cover- 
ing of  the  temple.  She  then  handed  me  a  golden  cup, 
which  she  had  kept  concealed  under  her  robe,  contain- 
ing some  water  from  the  stream  of  life,  which  flows  from 
beneath  the  throne  of  God,  and  she  said,  "This  is  the 


THE  DREAM  OF  FAITH.  41 

cup  of  salvation  !  Drink  and  look  up  again  !'''  1  obeyed — 
instead  of  the  cloud  of  gloom,  I  saw  a  world  of  beauty 
and  glory.  In  it  were  the  thousands  of  the  happy  and 
redeemed.  I  heard  strains'of  music,  so  sweet  that  I 
could  not  refrain  from  shouting.  To  my  infinite  delight, 
I  saw  many  of  my  departed  friends  there,  and  among 
them,  him  whom  I  had  just  followed  to  the  grave.  They 
knew  me  and  waved  their  spirit  hands  around  as  if  to 
point  me  to  the  bliss  and  beauty  of  their  homes,  and 
then  they  beckoned  me  to  come.  Oh  !  I  felt  so  happpy  ! 
I  stood  gazing  and  shouting  praises  to  God  !  *  *  *  But 
soon  I  discovered  that  the  scene  grew  dimmer  and  the  mu- 
sic fainter,^  and  anon  the  sight  and  the  sound  faded  away 
together.  I  awoke,  and  my  dream  was  ovej*.  But  it 
made  a  lasting  impression  on  my  mind,  and  I  have  been 
happier  over  since. 


JF  0  r  e  b  e  t   (S  0  n  r . 


How  full  of  sad,  yet  inspiring  meaning  are  those  lit- 
tle words,  ''Forever  gone  !"  If  fully  appreciated,  they 
appeal  more  eloquently  to  the  heart  than  any  elaborate 
effort  of  the  tongue  or  pen.  They  are  written  in  count- 
less places  in  the  great  volume  of  nature,  and  are  spoken 
by  ten  thousand  tongues  which  are  never  still. 

"Forever  gone!"  is  heard  in  the  lingering  sound  of 
fading  music — in  the  solemn  dirge  of  the  funeral  bell — 
in  the  busy  pulsations  of  the  living  heart — in  the  spirit 
voice  of  the  zephyr  as  it  steals  away.  "  Forever  gone  !" 
is  softly,  yet  solemnly  uttered  by  every  fleeting  moment 
that  passes,  and  is  caught  up  and  repeated  by  each  joy 
and  privilege  which  that  moment  wafts  on  its  angel 
wings.  It  is  whispered  by  the  drooping  petal  of  every 
faded  flower,  as  the  eye  seeks  in  vain  for  that  beauty 
which  once  enchanted  the  heart.  The  last  lingering 
sunbeams  write  it  on  the  brow  of  heaven,  and  the  rip- 
pling streamlet  murmurs  it  for  its  song.  It  is  chanted 
by  the  countless  voice-harps  which  render  vocal  the  dim, 
but  hallowed  aisles  of  memory,  and  it  mingles  in  the 
lonely  requiem  of  departed  hopes  and  pleasures. 

In  maturer  years,  memory  often  recalls  to  the  mind 
the  peaceful  scenes  and  holy  joys  ot  childhood,  when  in- 
nocence marked  every  word  and  deed,  and  the  heart 
had  never  learned  to  fear.     She  paints  the  cheery  smiles 


FOREVFR    GONE  I  "        43 

that  plajed  upon  the  young  face,  and  the  lively  antici- 
pations -which  rejoiced  the  hopefurb.osom.  She  tells 
how  the  heart  ran  out  in  confidence  and  love  towards 
all  the  world,  and  how  it  loved  the  sweet  flowers,  with- 
out dreaming  that  they  concealed  a  thorn ;  and  as  she 
speaks,  a  soft  enchantment  steals  upon  the  soul,  which 
makes  us  almost  feel  that  we  are  living  those  blithesome, 
happy  hours  over  again  ;  but  painful  consciousness  star- 
th)s  us  with  tlic  truth — thy  sunny  childhood  is  "forev- 
er gone  !" 

We  look  back  over  the  changes  of  a  few  short  years, 
and  behold  the  pleasures  of  our  early  friendships,  hear 
the  gay  sweet  songs  we  then  sang,  and  the  words  which 
fell  from  guileless  lips.  We  remember  many  a  bright 
reminiscence  of  our  communings  ;'  how  we  toiled  togeth- 
er and  played  together,  wept  together  and  laughed  to- 
gether ;  how  we  told  each  other  our  petty  Ijopcs  and. 
fears,  and  talked  ot  the  better  days  when  we  shoijkl  be 
older  and  larger  and  wiser.  We  feast  on  thes(!s  recol- 
lections till  fancy  places  us  again  under  the  old  oaks  up- 
on the  hill,  or  by  the  quiet  brook  in  the  meadow- with 
thqse  same  young  friends  around  us,  and  we  dream  sooth- 
ing dreams  of  our  boyhood's  days ;  but  soon,  ah !  soon 
there  comes  a  voice  from  the  lips  of  truth  that  says,  thy 
youth  and  its  friends  are  alike  "  forever  gone.  " 

I  remember  standing,  on  a  still,  bright  day  in  the  old 
churchyard,  with  a  bosom  oppressed  with  grief.  There 
was  a  new-made  grave  waiting  to  receive  its  precious' 
trust.  A  solemn  gloom  had  settled  on  every  brow. — 
Tears  flowed  from  eyes  that  seldom  weep,  and  ever  and 
anon  the  shrill  cry  of  heart-bleeding  anguish  fell  hai'shly 


44  MVKXLH    LEAVEP. 

upon  my  soul.  A  coffin  was  pijico  btsided  the  giav©, 
the  lid  removed,  and  a  calm,  smiling  face  uncovered  for 
the  last  time.  A  qluster  of  flowers  rested  upon  her  bo- 
som— an  emblem  of  her  beauty  and  her  early  fall. — 
Friends  took  a  lingering,  tearful,  farewell  look  ;  soma 
kissed  the  cold,  smiling  lips,  and  the  lid  was  closed. — 
Then  the  coffiin  was  placed  in  the  bosom  of  the  grave. 
Many  a  sweet  evergreen  followed  it,  '.  liich  whispered  to 
an  ear  that  could  not  hear,  '' We  will  .'^till  remember 
thee."  Then  I  heai^  that  strange  hollovr  sound  of  the 
clods  falling,  and  .scon  a  frcsli  mound  w:.-:  raised,  and 
the  burial  was  finished. 

lie  whose  loss  was  greatest,  the  ciieo-Jv^ss,  broken- 
hearted one,  turned  away  with  an  air  of  deepest  sorrow, 
and  cried  in  those  affecting  tones  .that  the  sorrowing 
alone  can  utter,  "Farewell  !  Farewell  I' 

I  went  away,  but  not  to  foigefc.  All  that  1  had  seen 
or  heard  TN'as  full  of  eloquerrce  to  inc.  The  sadness— 
the  t^rs-- the  cries — the  i)ale  face — the  coffin — the 
liowers — the  evergreen — the  grave';  and  most,  that 
piercing  "farewell,"  all  spoke  plainly  and  mightily  to 
my  soul,  those  strange  words,  "forever  gone!" 

These  little  words  are  always  teaching  us  good  lea- 
sons.  They  bid  us  to^^improve  the  present,  for  that  too, 
like  the  past,  will  soon  be  gone.  Ere  long  and  we  shall 
seek  the  hopes,  the  pleasures,  the  privileges,  tlie  com- 
munings, the  friendships  that  noAv  rejoice  us,  and  cruel 
change  wilt  tell  us,  "They  are  forever  gone."  Let  the 
duties  of  ^-day  be  done  to-day,  for  each  moment  has  its 
own  duties  that  cannot  be  crowded  into  anothei',  and  a 
moment  once  gone,  is  "  forever  gone  !" 


rOREVER  »ONB  I  4^ 

Let  tlie  vouiJff  be  tauo-ht  that  chiUihood  and  yoiUh 
are  tiecting — that  they  are  the  Jbuds  which  determine 
the  blossoDib  of  riper  years,  and  tlia't  once  gone,  all  their 
hope?,  privileges  and  opportunities  are  ''  forever  go»eI" 

Let  every  heart  be  taught  the  sud  trulh,  that  it;* 
fi-icnds  ai-e  fast  "passing  away."  Those  now  with  us, 
will  soon,  like  those  we 'have  loved  and  lost  in  bygone 
days,  be  numbered  with  the  "forever  goiic  !'' 

If  we  would  hlrss  thorn  ever,  let  us  bless  thcui  now 
while  tliey  are  with  us.  If  we  would  shed  the  light  of 
joy  on  sorrow's  shades,  if  we  wonfdhcal  bleeding  hearts, 
-cheer  drooping  souls,  dry  burning  toars,  hush  sorrowi'ui 
sighs,  plant  fiowors  of  peace,  'and  do  whatever  good  wo 
c^;n  to  those  around  us,  lot  us  do  it  now  ;  else  they  too 
Avill  soon  be,  thoirgh  not  too  far  for  the  heart  to  love, 
yet  too  far  for  the  hand  to  bless  them.  Ijtt  us  not  speak 
to  them  in  words  that  we  would  not  love  to  remember 
were  they  gone.  Let  us  give  them  smiles  instead  of 
frowns  ;  joy  instead  of  grief;  for  when  friends  are  gone, 
it  will  be  very  painful  to  have^the  unkind  words  that  w« 
epoke  to  tltem  sounding  in  liarfh  echoes  in  our  hearts, 
audthe  spectres  of  the  cruel  injuries  we  did  them  haunt- 
ing our  vision. 

Another  lesson  of  tliese  little  words  is,  that  wc  should 
not  link  our  hopes  of  happiness  to  the  things  of  time. 

"  IM  rather  make 
-My  bowf'r  upon  sotno  icy  lako, 
When  th>>.v..ing  suns  b^gin  to  shine.'" 
Who'd  build  upon  the  frozen  streuui, 
Who  kno^V5  the  morrow's  melting  l;t;unt 
May  sink  hi>  hOiDO  bonoath  Iho  wave ".' 
\Vho'd  risk  bis  hoperf  upon  a  tiower, 


4€  MYRTLE  LEAVES. 

That  friphlj  bloomR  at  morning  honr, 
And  dio8  upon  tho  lap  of  eve  ? 

"Who'd  choose  a  ?uii  of  joy  that  nirty 
Be  dimmed  and  clouded  all  the  daj, 
Then  set  so  soon  and  set  forever  ? 
Who'd  blend  his  fortune  with  a  droara, 
Which  lilce  the  ignis  fatuus  flame 
.Soon  llitteth  and  returneth  never? 

Yet  sooner  oft,  than  flaming  firo 
Can  melt  the  ice — or  chilly  air 
Of  winter  blight  the  tender  bloom  — 
Ere  Hitting  cloud  can  dim  a  ray — 
•  Or  waking  visions  flash  away — 
Eiirth's  hopes  iire  lost  in  cheerless  doom 

Oh  !  trust  not  earth,  however  beautiful  and  promis- , 
ing  !     Heaven,  and  heaven  only,  is  worthy  of  our  confi- 
dence and  desire.     Let  us,  with  the  hope  and  faith  of 
Christians,  seek  for  a  lionie  in  heaven,  for  "a  city  that 
liath  foundations,  whoso  buikler  and  maker  is    God;" 
and  then  when  our  pilgrimage  is  ended,  the  conscious- 
ness of  the  smiles  of  an  approving  Father,  -shall  sink 
upon  the  soul  in  that  dark  hour  like  a  breath  from  hea- 
ven ;  and  the  good  angels  shall  point  us  to  the  tears  and 
toils,  the  sighs  and  strife,  the  frowns  and  fears,  the  dan- 
gers and  dread,  tho  prayers  and  pains  of  earth,  and 
shout  in  a 'tongue  that  shall  awaken  glory  in  the  soul, 
'^  Forever  gone  !"     And  in  after  years,  when  memory 
robed  in  the  drapery  of  mourning,  steals  up  to  those 
who  knew  and  loved  us,  and  Vhispers  tenderly  yet  truly, 
that  we  are  "  forever  gone  !"  a  sweeter  voice  than  mem- 
ory's shall  answer  from  tho  spirit  land,  "Forever  gone 
from  earth — forever  saved  in  heaven!" 


Ctfjcic  is  no  Place  liftc  IKJomr- 


''ThrrkIs  no  place  like  Iiomo,"  sang  poor  Pajiie, 
who  never  had  a  home,  and  died  in  a  land  of  strangers  ; 
and,  to  the  touching  sentiment,  millions  have  responded, 
— ^'Itis  true."' 

"  There  js  no  place  like  homo,"  for  kindness,  sympa- 
thy and  affection.  It  is  the  unsealed  fountain  of  ths 
loveliest  emotions  of  the  human  heart,  the  theatre  of 
the  most  enchaining  and  affecting  deeds.  It  is  the  place 
•where  a  mother's  love  is  unveiled  in  all  its  tenderness 
and  power,  showering  upon  the  soul  the  holiest  and 
sweetest  blessings  of  life  ;  for  there  is  no  friend,  this 
side  of  Heaven,  like  a  mother,  and  there  are  no  words 
so  piX)cious  nor  deeds  so  true  and  kind  as  hcr's.  I  have 
ever  felt  a  fervent  sympathy  for  tlM)se  who  early  lost  a 
mother,  for  there  are  rich  treasuries  of  love,  and  joy, 
and  hope  within  us  and  around  us,  which  must  remain 
forever  closed,  if  there  be  not  a  mother  s  hand  to  unlock 
them. 

At  home  there  are  many  other  sources  of  pleasure 
and  peace.  Who  does  not  rejoice  that  ho  can  share  au 
affectionate  father's  counsel  and  care  T  What  is  warmer 
and  dearer  than  a  fond  companion's  love  ?  What  is 
sweeter  and  purer  than  a  sibt)r*8  smile,  a  sister's  kiss,  a 
sister's  tear  ?  What  is  stronger  and  truer  than  a  broth- 
er's devotion?     Some,  if  not  all  of  these,  are  generally 


48  MYRTLE   LEAVES. 

enjoje«l  at  home.  There  all  are  blended  bj  a  iamo- 
nes3  of  fortune,  interest,  hope,  fear,  pleasure  and  datj. 
We  live  together,  and  love  together,'  till  all  our  hearts 
are  sacredly  united,  and  we  have  "a  sweet  existence  in 
each  other's  being."  There  we  confide  without  fear  of 
betrayal,  and  meet  with  tokens  of  sympathy  iwnd  affec- 
tion that  we  know  are  sincere. 

"  There  is  no  place  like  home,"  because  there  we  can 
enjoy  a  tranquil  freedom  from  the  harsh  tumults  and 
strifes  of  the  loud,  rude  world.  From  this  cause,  it  af- 
fords many  peculiar  enjoyments  which  the  world  cannot 
give.  Innocence  and  purity  are  enshrined  in  its  plea- 
isur^s,  and  oftentimes  contentment  lores  to  smile  upon 
the  bosom  which  loves  the  charms  of  home. 

"  There  is  no  place  like  home,"  because  every  object 
in  it  and  around  it  is  hallowed  by  sacred  memories.  It 
has  a  thousand  magic  tongues,  which  softly  and  enchant- 
ingly  whisper  the  reminiscences  of  bygone  days.  If  we 
visit  itj  after  months  or  years  of  absence,  the  meadows, 
the  streams,  the  hills,  the  valleys,  the  grove,  the  garden, 
the  vines  and  the  flowers  all  seem  to  greet  us  gladly, 
and  welcome  us  to  their  enjoyment  again.  "  There  is 
no  place  like  home."  We  often  feel  there  as  we  do  not, 
and  cannot,  feel  elsewhere  on  earth.  The  affection  for 
it  takes  up  its  abode  in  the  heart,  in  the  halcyon  dayg 
of  innocent  hopes  and  loves — remjiins  there  as  the  year* 
pass  by  and  the  heart  grows  old — and  yields  its  place 
in  after  years  to  no  struggle,  nor  storm,  nor  fate. 

It  is  a  precious  relic  of  Eden, — a  love-crowned  type 
of  Heaven.  All  who  have  a  home,  albeit  it  be  hamblo 
and  poor,  may  say  sincerely  : 


THERE  13   NO    PLACE    LIKE   HOME.  49 

'•The  dearest  spot  on  earth  to  mo, 
Is  home,  sweet. home." 

But,  while  all  this  is  true,  it  is  subject  to  influences, 
changes,  accidents  and  necessities  which  render  it  sadly, 
aje  painfully  unreliable.  It  may  be  taken  from  us. 
Fire  may  consume  it.  Violence  may  djeface  or  destroy 
it.  Misfortune  or  poverty  may  force  us  to  depart  from 
it,  to  give  it  into  the  hands  of  strangers,  and  with  weep- 
ing eye  and  bleeding  heart  to  bid  adieu  to  its  endear- 
ments and  charms  forever.  The  common,  but  severe, 
duties  of  life  will  often  call  us  away  from  it,  to  join  the 
toils  and  trials  of  a  striving  world.  We  may  at  any  mo- 
ment, 7nust,  frequently  at  best,  be  called  away  from 
home ;  and  home  may  suddenly,  and  at  any  time,  be 
taken  from  us. 

AjSliction  often  disturbs  and'  destroys  the  tranquil 
peace  and  joy  of  home. ^  Fears  and  forebodings  cast^ 
shadows  and  darkness  in  its  cheerful  halls.  Scenes 
transpire  which  make  every  loving  heart  quiver  with 
fear  or  thrill  with  anguish.  Sickness  comes,  and  as  it 
gradually  undermines  the  hopes  and  prospects  of  those 
we  love  most  dearly,  our  bosoms  are  torn  with  sympathy, 
and  we  are  very  unhappy,  although  we  are  at  home.^- 
No  joys,  however  hallowed,  no  affection,  however  pure 
and  strong,  can  bar  the  door  to  the  entrance  of  death. 
The  merry  laughter,  the  mirthful  voices,  must  sometimes 
change  to  the  sighs  and  wailings  of  the  broken  hearted, 
sorrowing  around  the  funeral  couch  of  the  fondly  loved* 
If  we  go  away  and  remain  for  a  few  short  years,  and 
then  return,  it  may  be  that  like  the  hapless  wanderer  of 
the  poet, 

**  We  enter  into  our  ?ioitse,  our  hojne  no  more, 
(For  without  hearts  there  is  no  home,)  and  feel 


50  MYRTLE   LEAVER. 

Tbe  Folitudc  of  passing  our  own  door 
Without  a  welcome." 

Yes,  *' without  a  v/elcomc,"  at  least  from  some  who  bid 
lis  aclieii  when  wc  left.  We  ask  for  them,  and  the  onlj 
answer  is  a  tearful  eye  and  a  trembling  finger  pointing 
to  the  graves  beneath  the  cedars  on  the  hill. 

It  is  also  our  doom  to  die.  Time  flies  swiftly,  and 
our  years,  at  most,  are  few  and  brief.  Even  if  home 
were  all  that  heart  can  wish,  without  accident,  trouble 
or  change,  yet  it  is  unworthy  of  too  much  confidence 
and  love,  for  we  must. soon  bid  it  farewell  forever. 

iVlas,  that  all  this  is  true  !  The  soul  needs  a  home  of 
peace,  rest,  comfort  and  joy.  Where,  oh  where,  shall 
it  find  the  precious,  priceless  boon-? 

"  Oh  where  shall  the  soul  find  relief  from  its  foes, 
A  shelter  of  safety,  a  home  of  repose  ? 
Can  Earth's  highest  summit,  or  deepest  hid  vale, 
Give  a  refuge  where  sorrow  nor  sin  can  assail  ? 

No,  no,  there's  no  homo  ; 

There  is  no  home^n  earth  ; 

The  soul  has  no  home. 

"  Shall  it  leave  the  low  earth,  and  3oar  to  the  sky, 
And  seek  for  a*home  in  the  mansions  on  high  ? 
In  the  bright  realm?  of  bliss  shall  a  refug?  be  given 
And  the  soul  Had  a  home  in  the  mansions  of  Heaven  ? 

Yes,  yes  there  is  a  home  ; 

There's  a  home  in  high  Heaven  ; 

The  sou!  has  a  home. 

"Oh,  holy  and  sweet  its  rest  shall  be  there, 
Free  forever  from  sorrow,  from  sin,  and  from  car-^ ; 
And  the  loud  hallelujahs  of  angels  shall  rise, 
.'i'o  welcome  the  soul  to  its  home  in  the  skies. 

Home  ;  home ;  sweet,  sweet  home ! 

The  bosom  of  God 

Is  the  home  of  the  soul." 


THBRl  IS   NO    PLACE   LIKE   HOME.  t51 

Yes ;  thank  God  forever  !  ^  There  is  a  home  for  the 
weary  pilgrim — a  home  for  the  homeless.  There  is  a 
home  in  Heaven  beautiful  and  blissful — dimmed  by  no 
shadows — troubled  by  no  fears,  and  disturbed  by  no 
power  of  sin  forever  !  A  home  in  Heaven,  with  the 
loved  ones  who  have  gone  before  us,  and  with  the  loved 
ones  who  are  going  with  us  !  Oh,  for  a  homo  in  the 
Glory  land  !  God  offers  a  title  to  it,  written  on  the 
pages  of  mercy,  with  a  pen  of  Eternal  truth,  dipped  in 
the  blood  of  Jesus.  We  have  birt  to  ask  and  it  is  giveu 
— but  to  seek  as  He  has  taught  us,  and  we  shall  find  it 
'forever. 


tE^t  (ffirabe. 


Oh,  for  &  heart  that  seeks  the  sacred  gloom. 
That  hovers  round  the  precincts  of  the  tomb  i 
'  While  fancj',  mnsing  there,  sees  visions  bright. 

In  death  discovering;  life,  in  darkness,  light. 

What  though  the  chilling  blasts  of  winter's  day 

Forbid  the  garden  longer  to  be  gay  ?  ^ 

Of  winter  yet  I'll  not  refuse  to  sing, 

Thus  to  be  followed  by  Eternal  Spring. 

Lkig"h  Eichmond! 

Nearly  six  thousand  years  ago,  when  the  earth  had 
no  lifeless  human  form  slumbering  in  her  bosom,  two 
brothers  were  walking  together  in  the  fields,  when  one 
of  them,  prompted  by  jealousy  and  envy,  rushed  upon 
the  other  and  slew  him.  Their  father  heard  cries  for 
mercy  and  help,  and  ran  as  quickly  as  possible  to  the 
spot.  Alas  !  he  came  too  late.  His  boy  gave  no  re- 
sponsive word  or  look,  when  he  called  him — he  was 
dead.  With  the  deep  grief  ^that  only  a  father 
knows,  he  fell  upon  his  face,  and  wept  the  first  tears 
ever  shed  over  the  dead.  Slowly  and  sadly  he  took 
him  in  his  arms,  and  carried  him  and  laid  him  down 
by  the  cool  brookside.  Next  he  called  the  companion 
of  his  joys  and  sorrows.  The  voice  she  heard  was 
strange  and  startling,  and  she  came  in  haste  and  fear. 
As  she  drew  near  and  saw  her  husband,  she  cried, 
"Why  didst  thou  call  me  ?"     The  father's  grief,  grown 


THK   grave!  ^3 

Stronger  from  sympathy,  was  too  powerful  for  him  to 
speak.  So,  with  streaming  eyes,  he  simjoly  poin  t  ed 
the  spiritless  form.  The  mother's  eye  and  heart  soon 
read  it  all,  and  there  was  bitter  wailing  and  wringing  of 
hands  there. 

The  first  wild  gush  of  sorrow  over,  they  washed  the 
blood  from  his  bruised  face  and  clotted  hair,  and  talked 
about  his  goodness  and  piety,  and  tried  to  console  one 
another  with  sympathy  and  hope.  Then  they  began 
to  prepare  for  the  burial.  The  mother  made  him  a 
winding-sheet  out  of  the  forest  leaves,'  and,  gathering 
some  flowers,  wreathed  a  beautiful  little  chaplet  around 
his  brow.  While  she  was  making  that  wreath,  different 
griefs  mingled  in  her  bosom,  for  every  flower  was  asso- 
ciated with  painful  recollections  of  her  lost  home  in  Eden. 
The  father  dug  a  little  rude  grave,  and  there  was  scarce- 
ly a  clod  upturned  on  which  there  did  not  fall  a  tear. 
When  it  was  done,  he  brought  their  boy  and  laid  him 
gently  in  its  bosom.  After  a  long,  sad  look,  they  both 
said,  "Farewell,"  and  then  threw  in  the  clods,  and  soon 
the  mound  was  raised  above  him.  It  was  finished,  and 
they  kneeled  down  and  prayed.  That  was  the  First 
Grave  ! 

There  is  something  strange,  afl*ecting,  and  tremen- 
dous in  the  idea  of  the  First  Grave,  '  It  stands  forth* 
as  a  terrible  embodiment  of  mortal  destiny — an  awful 
necessity,  folding  in  its  bosom,  like  the  original  sin  that 
caused  it,  the  seed  of  a  gloom  and  terror  which  should 
inevitably  connect  itself  with  the  fortunes  of  each  and 
all  of  the  children  of  men  to  the  last  moment  of  time. 

Could  one  with  proph«ti«  ken  hav«  »tood  beside  that 


64  MYRTLE   LEAVES. 

grave  and  scanned  the  widening  future,  what  a  ;wild, 
withering,  and  w^oful  panorama  would  have  spread  be- 
fore him  !  As  he  glanced  over  grave-yards,  cemetei'ies, 
battle-fields,  and  a  thousand  times  ten  thousand  burial 
places,  he  would  have  shouted  in  astonishment  and  bit- 
terness, ^'Oh,  Grave !  Thy  victories  I  Thy  victories  t 
Thy  victories!" 

Go  in  fancy  to  the  first  grave.  Thence  descend  with 
perishing  generations  along  the  numberless  pathways 
of  hum  an  life — ^isitall  the  scenes  and  homes  of  humanity. 
Wander  with  the  first  nomad  tribes  in  an  uncultured  and 
almost  unpeopled  world.  Visit  the  first  rude  habitations 
of  man.  Linger  about  their  villages  and  towns  and 
cities.  March  with  all  the  battling  hosts,  who  in  every 
age  have  gone  forth  to  destroy.  Float  with  every  bark 
that  ever  rode  a  wave.  On'  every  side  and  all  along 
you  will  see  the  grave — the  cold,  ruthless,  mighty  grave. 
Remember  that  everything  and  every  place  which  con- 
tains the  relics  of  a  lifeless  human  body,  is  in  reality  a 
grave.  If  you  look  in,  you  will  discover  that  it  has 
won  stupendous  trophies.  It  boasts  among  its  victims 
all  classes  of  mankind.  It  has  emperors  and  empresses, 
kings  and  queens,  dukes  and  dutchesses,  popes  and  car- 
dinals, priests  and  apostles,  heroes  and  conquerors, 
presidents  and  vice-presidents,  the  honored,  the  praised, 
the  proud,  the  wealthy,  the  beautiful,  the  cherished, 
the  youthful,  the  middle-aged,  the  old,  the  fortunate, 
the  hapless,  the  pagan,  the  Mohamedan,  the  infidel,  the 
atheist,  the  saint  and  sinner,  all  of  every  class,  of  every 
age,  of  every  tongue,  of  every  faith,  of  every  fortune, 
<>f  every  conduct  and  character,  who  have    lived  and 


THE   GRAVE.  55 

died  in  nearly  sixty  hundred  years !  How  much  beauty, 
innocence,  loveliness,  worth,  wealth,  power,  and"  great- 
ness slumber  in  its  earth-walls  !  Are  not  its  victories 
great  ?  Oh  how  great !  Bui  most  sadly  and  powerfully 
do  we  realize^its  terrible  ravages  when  we  remember 
that  it  has  won  many  from  our  circles,  from  our  homes  ; 
and  that  every  hearthstone  has  its  tombstone.  It  hide^ 
faces  that  smiled  on  us,  tongues  that  comforted  and 
cheered  us,  hearts  that  loved  and  blessed  us.  Oh  Grave ! 
Thy  victory  !  Thy  victory  ! 

But  it  not  only  holds  the  dust  of  the  departed — it 
powerfully  affects  the  living.  It  not  only  keeps  the 
still  tongues  of  many  fallen ;  it  makes  the  tongues  ol 
the  living  speak  strange  words.  It  not  only  boasts  its 
millions  of  pulseless  bosoms; -it  wildly  sports  with  the 
most  sacred  feelings  of  living  hearts.  Millions  of  eyes 
more  than  behold  to-day's  sunshine,  have  dropped  the 
tear  beside'it.  Far  more  tongues  than  now  babble  the 
many  dialects  of  earth,  have  thrown  the  hollow  accents 
of  grief  into  its  vaults.  We  ourselves  have  witnessed 
many  a  scene  beside  it  which  we  can  never  forget.  We 
have  seen  the  feeble  and  the  strong  bowed  down  together, 
and  sinking  and  groahiiig  beneath  grim  sorrow's  weight, 
as  they  gazed  into  its  bosom.  How  many  painful  part- 
ings have  occurred  here!  How  many  last  looks,  last 
farewells,  last  kisses!  I  once  stood  by  the  grave  of  a 
beautiful  young  lady,  and  saw  her  brother  come  and 
take  a  wishful,  tearful,  final  lock  at  her  sweet,  pale  face. 
He  loved  that  face  still,  it  had  so  often  smiled  in  gent- 
lest affection  upon  him.  As  he  thought  of 'the  clods 
80  soon  to  hide  her  forever ,  from  his  sight,  ho  cried 


66  MYRTLE   LEAVF.S. 

in  a  wild  wail  of  agony,  *'  Qh,  is  it  the  last  time  ?  is  it 
the  last  time  ?".  Yes  ;  the  grave  is  the  scene  of  behold- 
ing the  loved  and  cherished  for  the  last  time.  Does 
not  all  this  prove  that  its  victories  aie  terrible' and 
great  ? 

We  must  view  it  In  a  light  that  is  still  more  absorb- 
ing and  startling  to  us.  We  are  not  only  interested  in 
what  it  has  done,  but  what  it  will  do.  All  who  are  now 
alive  may  say  with  the  Patriarch,  "I  know  that  thou 
wilt  bring  me*  to  death,  and  to  the  house  appointed  for 
all  the  living." 

True  it  is  our 

**  Time  is  fleeting, 
And  our  heart«,  thougli  stout  and  .brave, 
Still  like  muffled  drums  are  beating 
Funeral  marches  to  the  grave." 

When  a  few  short  years  have  fled,  the  thousand  mil- 
lions which  earth  can  claim  to-day,  will  all  have  found 
resting  places  in  her  bosom.  With  these  is  our  doom. 
It  must  add  our  forms  to  its  trophies — must  enfold  us 
in  its  monstrous  arms.  I  shudder  at  the  thought ! — 
Must  I  go  to  the  long  sleep  of  the  grave  ?  Is  there  no 
way  for  me  to  escape  it  ?  Am  I  bound  to  miike  it  my 
home  ?  If  I  must,  is  there  no"  soothing  solace  for  such 
a  fate  ?  Is  there  nothing  to  give  hope  and  fortitude  to 
the  soul  as  it  contemplates  the  coming  death  of  its  earth 
conip anion  ?  There  is.  "  Thanks  be  unto  God  who 
giveth  U8  the  victory^  through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ!'' 
There  is  to  be  another  and  a  greater  victory— the  vic- 
tory over  the  grave. 

How  dearly  I  love  religioB,  when  I  come  to  these 


THE    GRAVE.  57 

dark  subjects  and  see  how  our  Father  in  heaven  haa 
provided  against  t]ieni  !     Look  away  to  the  future—^to 
the  last  day  of  time !  ■  You  stood  in  fancy  by  the  first 
in-ave,  now  stand  above  the  last.     Behold  from  that  tho 
multitudes  of  crumbling  and-  forgotten   burial  grounds 
which  have  been  built  and  filled  in  all   ages !     Mark 
every  plaCe  where  the  dust  that  once  lived,  reposes,  and 
instead  of  considering  them  as  the  cities  and  homes  of 
the  dead,  view  them  and  reverence  them  as  the  hidden 
harvest  fields  of  immortality  awaiting  the  coming  of  the 
joyous  angel  reapers.     God  has  told  us  that  there  shall 
be  a  resurrection.     The  forms  of  tho  just  shall  live  again 
in  bliss  and  beauty.     Ihe  mouldering  dust  laughs  in  the 
dream  of   itis  glorious  destiny.     It  is  the  sleeping  seed 
of  a  fadeless  fioWer,  resting  until  the  vernal' dawn  of  the 
eternal  year  of.  God's  salvation.     It  is  ■  Avinter  a  littlo 
^vhile,  but  the  spring  cometh.     Think  this  as  you  stand 
by  the  last" grave!     Though  the  tomb  contains  much 
that  you  love,. many  that  you^vould -see  again,  defy  its 
power!     Turning  your  eye;^  from  earth,  behold  that 
■myriad  host  of  the  white  winged  songsters  and  messen- 
gers of  glojy,  as    they  ]i6ver    with   trembling  pinions 
along  the  upper  sky  !     Among  tliem  are  the  happy  spir- 
its of  the  pious  dead.     They  ghinco  their  pure  vision  at 
the  tombs    beneath  them,  and   then  look  with  angelic 
ardor  at  the  signal  angel.     He  lifts  the  trumpet  to  his 
lip  and  gives  a  thrilling  blnbt. "    They  start!     Swift  as 
.'  sunbeam  they  U.-Tiih  dowQ  to  earth,  da&h  down  the 
tombstones,  tear  open  the.  quiverijjg  graves,  and  catch 
.up  and  bear  away  the  bright  and  glittering  bodies;  and 
as  they  mount  the  plains..of  ligiit  and  soar  to  the  throne 
in  the  clouds,  they  look  back  in  joy  and  triumph  to  the 
startled,  empty  vaults,  arid  s^hout   as  saints  and  angclg 

•••*  >li  crrav©  !   vvhero'ifj  thy  viot^^rv  ' 

6 


Zf)t  ?t?i)acintf). 


"  I  hftTO  iWMt  thoughti  of  tht«  I 

The  J  com*  around  m«  like  the  Toic«  of  loag ." 

On  %  cold,  dreary  day  in  January,  I  visited  Laura's 
grare.  As  I  approached  it,  lonely  and  musing,  the 
world  grew  more  and  more  bleak  and  cheerless.  The  scat- 
tered heaps  of  the  melting  snow  seemed,  in  their  rare- 
ness and  purity,  fit  emblems  of  piety  in  this  world  ;  for 
the  folly  and  wickedness  of  men  appear  very  great  to 
us,  when  we  think  of  them  "in  a  field  of  graves." 

I  leanedjagainst  a  willow,  whose  Weeping  boughs  hung 
over  the  resting-place  of  my  sweet  friend.  The  cold 
wind  whistled  through  the  palings,  and  chilled  my  brow, 
reminding  me  of  that  cruel  fortune,  as  I  then  thought 
it,  which  took  my  loved  and  dear  one  from  me.  I  wept, 
too,  as  I  stood  there,  for*  I  remembered  warmly  the 
earlier  and  golden  days,  when  Laura  and  I  sported  to- 
gether in  childhood's  glee,  and  blessed  each  other's 
hearts  with  kindness  and  love.  Through  the  thick 
tears  that  gathered  I  saw  something  bright  and  beauti- 
ful at  the  foot  of  the  mound.  I  brushed  the  tears  away 
and  looked  more  closely.  It  was  a  little  Hyacinth, 
blooming  there  alone.  As  I  viewed  it,  many  thoughts, 
both  pleasant  and  painful,  arose  in  my  mind.  I  thought 
it  was  a  little  jewel  that  indulgent  Heaven  had  placed 
upon  the  eold  bogiQin  of  wiftt«r-«-'f9r  Hoaydij  oft^u  gives 


THE   HYACINTH.  59 

precious  gifts  to  the  unthankful  and  unkind.  It  was 
blooming  amid  the  wintry  desolation  around  it,  like  the 
flower  in  the  deser*  sands,  a  token  of  mercy,  a  proof 
that  God  was  there.  It  smiled  upon  all  the  dreariness 
there,  as  though  it  had  a  hope  and  a  consciousness  which  I 
neither  felt  nor  knew.  I  knew  it  would  not  live  as  long 
as  other  flowers,  spring  flowers,  for  it  nodded  and  trem- 
bled in  a  chilling,  blightitig  wind.  So  many  of  the  frail 
and  holy  die  the  sooner  for  the  trials  and  dangers  that 
their  duties  bring;  but,  like  the  flower,  they  come  in 
the  time  and  fulfill  the  mission  which  Heaven  designed, 
and  therefore  it  is  all  well. 

While  I  mused*  thus,  it  appeared  to  grow  suddenly 
brighter,  and  whispered  to  my  soul  in  a  spirit  tongue, 
"I  emblem  the  dear  one  whose  grave  I  adorn."  Then 
it  became  more  touchingly  eloquent  thart  before.  Like 
the  heart  of  my  friend,  who  slept  beneath  it,  it  was  ten- 
dcr  and  stainless.  Like  her,  it  was  born  in  adversity 
and  doomed  to  lend  its  beauty  ami  charms  and  blessings 
to  those  who  neither  gaVe  nor  promised  any  tender  and 
soothing  return.  Like  her,  it  was  bound  to  bloom  and 
fade,  without  the  soft,  genial  influences  of  spring  ;  there 
was  no  spring-time  to  her  life,  it  was  all  winter.  It  was 
far  away  from  the  cultured  border  and  the  rich  par- 
terre, alone  amid  the  solitary  tombs  :  so  she  lived  in  the 
low-thatched  cottage,  with  no  honor  or  wealth  or  fortune, 
almost  unknowing  and  unknown. 

But  soon  brighter  thoughts  came.  Though  it  was 
destined  to  droop  and  die  so  soon,  yet,  while  it  was 
blooming,  each  petal  pointed  to  the  skies,  like  the  liv- 
ing hopes  and  dyin*;  hands  of  Laura,     Heaming  in  the 


§<)  MYRTLE    LEAVWi. 

grief-shade  ^bicli  overhung  tht)  grave,  it  nas  a  token  df 
that  sweet  thought  which  lies  down  with  the  departed 
— like  a  raj  of  glory  in  the  vaults  of  death — whig- 
pering  soothingly,  hopefully  back  to  the  living, 
''  The  dead  shall  rise  again.''  It  came  long  before  the 
other  flowers,  so  she  s-hall  arise  with  the  white-robed 
ransomed  at  the  trumpet's /r*t  thrilling  blast. 

Then  I  loved  that  little  flower — ^fondly  and  fervently 
I  loved  it ;  and  I  bowed  in  gratitude,  and  blessed  it  and 
kissed  it ;  and  afterwards,  lifting  my  heart  to  Heaven, 
I  thanked  my  Father  for  the  language  of  the  littld 
grave-gem,  and  prayed  that  I  might  meet  mj  friend  in 
Ilearen. 


^^IjrJj  not   a   Ceax\ 


''  Befor*  thy  heart  might  learn 

In  waywardness  to  itraj, 
Bt-forQ  thy  foot  c#uld  turn 

Tho  d<rk  ftnd  downward  way, 
Ere  sin  m'jht  wound  thy  breast, 

Or  sorrow  wake  tho  ttar — 
Hise  to  tlby  home  of  rest 

In  yon  cel«8tiftl  sphi^rc.  , 

'    Rtfcause  thy  smile  w-?*  fair, 

'^rhy  lips  and  eyes  so  bright ; 
f33cause  thy  cradle  care 

Wr9  such  H  fond  delight ;  * 

^ball  love,  with  weak  embrace, 

Thy  heavenward  flight  detain  ? 
No,  angel  !  sGek|!tliy  place 

Amid  yon  cherub  train." — Mr«    Siqournet. 

OcTAViA  wept  the  early  fall  of  her  8on,  and  Virgil 
sang  to^assuage  her  grief.  *  Though  she  was  so  over- 
whelmed by  the  beauty  and  pathos  of  the  poem  that 
she  fainted xiit  its  close,  yet  she  did  not  lose  her  sorrow 
nor  cease  her  bitter  tears  until  she  had  grieved  away 
twelve  dreary  years  and  filled  a  mourner's  'grave.  If 
you  have  lost  a  sweet  child,  you  are  more  fortunate  than 
Octavia  in  means  of  consolation.  She  received  a  tri- 
butd  from  a  noble  bard,  but  you  have  a  better  tribute 
from  th«  Saviour.     Truth^^iternal  truth-^chide^Jyoui^ 


62  MyRTLE    LKATBS. 

tears  and  smiles  on  all  your  heaveu-reaching  hopes.  .A 
lonjr  time  ao;o  Jesus  said,  "  Suffer  little  children  to  corad 
unto  mo,  and  forhid  them  not;  for  of  such  is  the  king- 
dom of  heaven."  Ever  since  that  moment  there  has 
been  no  room  to  doubt  infant  salvation.  He  taught 
further,  that  unless  the  sinful  were  converted  and  be- 
came as  little  children,  they  could  not  enter  the  king- 
dom* Conversion  certainly  places  a  soul  in  a  salvabls 
state ;  but  conversion,  acc(^'ding  to  the  above,  is  neces- 
sary before  the  accountable  can  become  as  little  children; 
therefore  it  is  very  clear  that  infants  arc  all  in  a  con- 
dition to  be  saved.  I  do  not  say  they  areregenerated — 
I  do  affirm  that  they  are  in  a  justified  state — and  so  far 
as  innocence  is  concerned,  they  are  in  the  same  rela- 
tion to  God  as  believers  are.  The  whole  truth  is  taught 
in  the  following  lines,  which  were  written  on  the  tomb- 
stone of  three  infants  : 

"  Bold  iiifidelity,  tura  pale  and  die  ! 

Bdneath  this  stone  three  infants'  nihes  he; 

Haj — are  they  lost  or  saved  ?  . 

If  death's  by  sin,  they've  sinned,  for  they,ar«  here  ; 

If  Heaven's  by  fuith,  in  IlaaYen  they  can't  ippoar  ; 

Oh  reason,  ho  n  dtprared  ! 

R<Ycre  the  Bible's  sacred  page — the  knot's  untied  ; 

They  died,  for  Adam  sinned-  they  live  for  Josus  died." 

Then  there  is  a  great  deal  of  sweet  thought  and  fer- 
vent oounsel,  to  parents  who  have  lost  the  young  and 
sinless,  in  the  assurance  that  they  now,  even  noWy  have 
children  in  Heaven.  "  Whom  the  gods  loved,  die 
young,"  sang  the  pantheist  ;  the  Christian  more  truly 
and  touchingly  says,  God  gives  and  takes  because  he 
loves.     He  often  gives  till  the  heart  of  the  parents  bo- 


•aB#   NOT   A   TSAR.  '  63 

oomde  eompletelj  enckained  and  absor)l>6d ;  hd  tftkos 
up  to  Heaven  then,  that  the  parent's  heart  may  follow. 
He  sometimes  giyes  till  he  sees  that  doating  hearts  are 
forgetting  him  and  worshipping  the  creature ;  he  callg 
up  home  then,  that  he  may  reprove  idolatry,  and  thus 
save  the  wandering  souls.  "  The  Lord  gave  and  the 
Lord  hath  taken  away;  blessed  be  'the  name  of  th® 
Lord!" 

"He  doubly  died  in  that  he  died  eo  young,"  say  a 
one ;  but  the  Christian  saya  rather,  "  He  scarcely  died, 
in  that  he  died  so  young."  It  is  very  sacred  and  very 
sweet- to  die  young.  It  is  to  die  ere  the  spacious  beau- 
ties of  the  world  have  charmed — ere  the  shadows  of  the 
world's  sorrows  have  darkened — the  chambers  of  the 
soul.  It  is  to  die  ere  the  knowledge  of  the  sweets  of 
meeting  has  prepared  the  heart  to  feel  the  pangs  of 
parting ;  ere  the  cords  of  tender  association,  commun- 
ion, sympathy  and  affection,  have  drawn  close  about  th© 
heart ;  ere  the  love  of  this  life  and  its  enchanting  scenes, 
has  possessed  the  bosom  and  won  the  worship  of  it8 
deep  emotions.  In  short,  those  who  die  young,  have 
the  le88  of  earth  that  they  may  have  the  more  of  Heav- 
en. They  die  soon,  that  they  may  live  soon.  So  far  as 
regards  themselves,  they  only  live  to  die,  they  only  die 
to  live  forever.  They  ^feel  enough  of  pain  to  enablo 
them  to  appreciate  the  joys  of  eternal  life,  und  then  go 
happily^away  to  the  full  fruition. 
5  ^God  then  was  not  cruel  or  unkind,  when  ho  took 
away  your  prattling  boy — your  laughing  girl.  Oh  no ; 
God  was  very  kind.  Notwithstanding  those  tears  and 
sobbings,  those  soul-bl«eding  sorrowings  of  yours  ;  not^ 


6* 


MYP%TL1!:    LK4VE3. 


•withstanding;  that  cheerless  blank  in  tbo  littlo  home-cir 
cle,  and  that  lonely,  gloomy  silence  there,  because  the 
music  of  that  little  pratler  greeted  tlie  ear  no  more,  still, 
he  Avas  very  kind.  Do  you  doubt  it  ?  Do  bligbt-ed  love  and 
blighting  sorrow  make  you  doubt  it  ?  Then  look  away 
to  the  glowing  realms  of  a  better  life  !  Lift  up  an  eyo 
of  holy  fiiith  and  look  to  the  christian's  Heaven  !  Be- 
hold its  fadeless  beauties,  its  sparkling  treasures,  its 
gleaming  glories,  its  raptured  legions.  Listen  at  the 
thrilling  pceans  of  the  blessed,  the  happy  hallelujahs 
of  the  immortal  choirs,  and  when  they  hush  their  choral 
chants,  catch  up  the  swelling  .symphony  of  unnumbered 
harps,  as  it  rings  from  every  grove,  from  every  fount, 
from  every  bower,'  mount,  m.insion  aad  throne  ;  and 
while  you  gaze,  and  listen  in  deep,  transporting  joy — 
Oh,  then  remember,  know  and  fjel  that  thy  child,  thy 
loved,  thy  los%  thine  own,  dear,  cherished  child  is  there  ! 
It  wears  a  crown,  it  waves  a  palm,  it  strikes  a  harp,  it 
sing3  the  anthem^  of  the  skies.  V/a-^'nt  God  kind  ?  Yes ; 
and  you  ought  to  dry  your  tei^r.^  and  thank  him.  Your 
child  is.  a  cherub  in  glory.  What  could  your  Father 
have  done  vath  that  chihl  to   its  happiness  and 

yours?     Then  weep  no  more.     Your  sighs  ought  t<5  be 
songs.     Your  grief  ought  to  be  gratitu^  1 

I  know  you  vfould  like  to  see  your  lo\  ca  one  again. 
Y'ou  want  t©  embrace  it  and  pr^ss  its  pure  lips  once 
more.  Will  you  not  then  prepare  to  join  it  in  its  angel 
abode  ?  If  you  would  meet  it  there,  it  would  tell  you 
all  about  its  joys  and  raptures,  show  you  the  bright  and 
beautiful  things  which  Jesus  has  given  it;  and  sing,  and 
rejoice,  and  be  happy  with  you  forever.     Amen  I 


Mn  ifHottjet's  €&rabe. 


'<  "Wo  know  that  thd  bowers  are  green  and  fair, 
In  the  light  of  that  6ummer  shore  ;    • 
And  we  know  that  the  Mother  we  lost  is  there- 
She  is  i!//r''«— and  she  weepi  no  more." 

I  am  kneeling  by  my  mother's  graye.  How  holy 
the  influence  that  sinks  upon  my  heart !  Memory  car- 
ries me  back  to  the  days  when  she  was  with  me,  and 
tells  me  of  a  thousand  pleasures  her  sacred  presence 
gave  me — pleasures  I  shall  never  know  again — aad 
sadness  is  upon  my  heart,  and  a  tear  is  in  my  eye ; 
but  still  it  is  sweet  to  be  here.  I  feel  her  love  as  I 
felt  it  in  ray  childhood — and  all  around  is  musical  in  its 
silence  like  the  language  of  affection  that  speaks  in  the 
voiceless  glance  and  smile  of  tenderness. 

Ah  Grave  !  thou  hast  a  precious  treasure  !  Within 
thee  are  the  hands  that  led  me,  the  arms  that  embrat ed 
me,  the  tongue  that  gently  taught  me,  and  the  face 
that  smiled  in  holiest  sympathy  upon  me.  Alas  !  and 
shall  I  never  see  them  any  morej? 

Be  still !  my  soul ;  dost  thou  not  hear  spirit-echoea  ? 
This  is,  indeed,  holy  ground.  I  am  nearer  Heaven 
here  than  at  any  other  spot  on  earth.  I  feel  that  ehe 
is  near  me,  and  yet  I  know  that  she  is  in  heaven.  Oh  ! 
it  is  BW«et  to  be  here.  The  Father  !•  strangely  kind 
aiiil  my  hearfe  ii  full  ef  melting  lore. 

7     • 


>  1 

Th«r«'i  a  raigLitj  eloquensd  prorikg  td  mj  tpmt,  a^ 
I  kneel  bj  thy  grare,  dear  mother,  that  w«  shall  moet 
again  I  Glorious  hopes  appeal  to  thee,  my  soul,  to 
cheer  thee  in  thy  sorrows  and  make  thee  faithful  unt« 
death.  Thou  still  hast  her  blessing  and  love ;  for  th« 
prayers  of  a  mother  do  not  die  when  she  dies,  and  th« 
real  heart  and  its  sinless  sympathies  are  never  buried 
in  the  tomb.  Her  love  is  purer  and  warm-«r  now,  foi 
it  Gom«s  from  "the  sainted  spirit  shore."  Thou  shal 
find  her  again  in  'the  bosom  of  bliss.' 


C  0 II  s  0 !  d  t  i  0  n  ♦ 


*'Away  !  we  know  thut  tears  are  vain, 
That  de-.th  oe'er  heeds  nor  hears  distress  ; 
"Will  this  unteacli  us  [o  complain, 
Or  mako  or.e  mourner  w«ep  the  less  ?" 

So  tender  and  affecting  are  the  ties  which   bind  the 

hearts  of  friends  together,  that  we  weep    even  in  the 

death-chamber,    and    at    tlie   grave    of  the   Christian. 

Death  demands  a  painful  tribute,    even  when   we  know 

that  the  forms  which  he    presses    to    his    chill j   bosom 

ehall  one  day  spring  from  his  palsied    arms    and  shina 

forever — and  that  th»  spirits  which    once  gave    them 

life  and  beauty,  are  already  enjoying  eternal  freedom 

and  blessing.     But  there  is   so  much  consolation  in  the 

belief  of  their  present  happiness — so  much  relief-in  the 

expectation  of  meeting  and  knowing  them  again,  that 

our  tears  are  often  sweet  to  our  souls,  and  our  sorrows 

mingled  with  the  dearest  enjoyments.     But  alas  !  there 

are  some  graves — graves    of  those  whom  we  have   tea- 

derly  cherished — which  are  wept  over  by  us  as  if  veiled 

in  a  gloom-cloud,  untempered  by  the  soothing  light  of 

one  single  gleam  of  hope.     Those  whom  they  contain 

spoke  no  cheering  word  to  us  while  dying.     They    did 

not  bid  us  meet  them  ia  a  happier  home,  for  they  never 

told  us  that  they  expected    to    dwtll    in   the    beautiful 

mansions  of  Heaven.     Theie  never  was  any   promise 

of  «tern»l  life  shining  ^^  their  lives,  and  speaking  from 

♦keir  lips.     0«r  bitterest  grief  is   called  Mp    by  theii- 


68  MYKTLE    LEATES. 

iiiemory.  But  is  there  not  some  solace  fur  us  as  vro 
look  with  tearful  eye  upon  their  tomh  ?  Is  there  not 
some  alleviation  of  these  sorrows  which  hang  so  heavily 
jirouud  our  hearts?  Shall  we  spend  all  our  lives  in 
this  troublous  gloom  ?  No !  However  true  our  hearts 
— however  deep  and  lingering  our  grief — there  will  be 
a  gradual  change.  As  we  engage  in  the  duties  of  life 
— mingle  .with  other  friends  and  pass  through  the 
changeful  history  of  the  next  few  months,  our  thoughts 
will  learn  to  wander  from  the  mounful  recollections 
over  which  they  are  brooding  now.  Time  will  gently 
'distil  a  genial  balm  upon  our  wounded  hearts  as  it  leads 
us  away  from  the  first  dark  hours  of  our  bereavement, 
and  familiariz«s  us  with  those  objects  which  now  so 
painfully  recall  the  dear  departed.  We  may  not  hope 
to  forget — indeed  we  would  not,  if  we  could,  forget — 
but  we  may  learn  to  remember  tliem  with  less  of  gloom 
and  grief  and  trouble  than  we  suffer  now.  This  is  the 
'common  history  of  tli'e'  bereaved. 

But  there  is  room  for  hope  where  many  a  depressed 
and  bleeding  heart  only  dc.-pairs.  The  mercy  of  our 
Heavenly  Father  is  very  wonderful,  and  the  experience 
of  the  sould  of  our  friends  is  often  very  diffefent  from 
what  appears;  and  therefore  we  may  believe  that  many 
a  poor  wicked'heart  seeks  for  refuge  in  the  blood  of  the 
Ptedecraer  in  the  last  hours  of  its  probation,  and  is  re- 
ceived-^nd  blessed  with  eternal  ransom.  Let  not  this, 
however,  encourage  the  delusive  dream  of  death-bed  re- 
pentance. That  dream  is  too  often  broken  by  the  aw- 
ful knell  of  every  privilege,  hope  nnd  pleasure,  and  is 
suddenly  supplanted  by  tho   startling  and  tr«m«ndous 


CONSOLATION.  6t 

realities  of  everlasting  death.  Perhaps  the  dying; 
hour  will  be  the  most  unfavorable  for  repentance  and. 
faith  of  all  the  hours  of  your  life.  Therefore  if  you  have 
any  other  opportunity  to  seek  for  pardon,  do  not  post- 
pone it  to  the  last  sti'uggle.  Your  soul  at  best  will  have 
enough  to  do  and  bear  then.  Beware  lost  your  last 
words  be  those  crushing  ones  which  have  fallen  from 
the  anguished  lips  of  thousands  who  deferred  their're- 
turn  to  God  to  the  last  of  their  lives — those  heart- 
breaking words,  '  it  is  too  Ikte  !  it  is  too  latt  !  " 

But  there  are  probably  many  instances  in  which  the 
mortal  affliction  is  graciously  directed  by  our  Fatlier  to 
the  'eternal  salvation  of  the  soul.  As  the  repentant 
malefactor  looked  upon  the  Saviour  and  trusted  Him, 
amid  the  pains  of  crucifixion,  so  many  who  have  sunk 
under  fatal  disease  or  received  mortal  wounds  by  acci- 
dent or  in  battle,  have  turned  their  spirit  eye  to  the 
same  Redeemer  and  through  one  earnest, '  whole-souled 
trust  in  Him,  felt  the  precious  balm  of  redeeming  love, 
preparing  the  spirit  to  pass  Jordan  in  safety  and  meet 
the  Lord  with  peace  and  joy  and  praise.  Many  sol- 
diers who  have  fallen  in  the  pending  war,  have  found 
their  v  ounds  or  sickness  the  ministers  *of  endless  mercy; 
and  have  risen  from  bloody  plain  or  crowded  hospital 
to  the  blooming  fields  and  shining  homes  of  Heaven. 
If  there  be  room  for  hope,  it  is  right  that  you  should 
dulge  it  to  the  relief  of  your  stricken  heart.  Should 
you  ever  reach  Heaven,  yon  may  be  raptuously  surprised 
to  find  many  there  whose  fate  you  now  think  phrouded 
forever  In  despair.  But  your  anticipations  ot -a  bliss- 
ful future  beyond  thitlif«or«  ofteB  troubled, 'yjerhaps, 


70'  UVRHiil    LllTBS. 

hj  ika  tbou^t  of  the  eternal  separations  wbiab  if'iAl 
oc<?ar  ai  the  Judgment.  You  do  not  luulerstand  now 
how  you  could  see  those  whomyou  havo  loved  on  earth, 
consigned  to  endless  naisery^  and  still  be  without  sym- 
pathy and  sorrow  in  your  own  heart.  It  is  right  that 
iueh  thoughts  be  entertained,  for  they  will  surely  ren- 
der you  mor«  true  and  untiring  in  your  efforts  to  secure 
the  salvation  of  those  friends  who  are  yet  in  a. world  of 
hope.  Oh,  who  will  not  freely  make  all  needful  sacri- 
fiees  and  bear  all  necessary  sufferings  to  save  dear  and 
loved  ones  from  such  a  fate  I  But  fear  not  that  the  ca- 
lamities  which  then  befall  your  friends  for  their  unfaith- 
fulness will  disturb  the  perfect-  Isatisfaction  of  your 
kf  art,  if  you  do  the  will  of  God  in  life  and  meet  H-ia 
»mile  in  Judgment.  Natural  ties— mere  human  friend- 
iVips — unsanctified  by  the  Spirit  of  Grace,  will  not  b« 
perpetuated  in  that  Happy  Land.  They  will  all  per- 
ish at  the  threshold.  They  will  live  in  the  bosom  of  the 
lest  as  shown  by  the  parable  of  the  rich  man  who  pray-  , 
ed  for  his  surviving  brothers,  while  he  was  suffering  tke* 
pains  of  perdition.  The  righteous  need  fear  no  such 
fate.  Their  peace  shall  be  unruffled  and  their  pleas- 
ures unmingled  and  full,  God  shall  wipe  all  tears  from 
their  eyes,  and  their  ^'sorrow  aad  sighing  shall  flet 
•way."  He  who  has  promised  is  able  to  fulfill,  and 
He  will  prove  to  «3  that  His  salvation  is  an  all  suflS- 
cient  balm  for  all  our  fears  and  woes.  Whe7i  the  soul 
M  full  of  Ileavsn,  thare  lolU  hi  no  TQ<jtn  for  trouhU  or 
grief. 

OuV  feelings  towards  the  Sually    impenitent,  will  be 
Uke  tkose  wkick  Ike  lledeeiBer  realiaetf.     He  loved  tkeM 


••irseLiLKoir.  71 

BO  langli  as  it  give  9m  M«  f«r  tiiem ;  m«w  Sd  Ib9li(»i4j 
ik%m  bauisbed  forover  frooi  His  peaeefnl  prssoDCtt  and 
eoRdemned  to  «ternal  tt«>«,  and   still  His  happiness  ii     t 
p«rfd«t. 


?i?flf)rrf  are  STftri}. 


I  know  that  they  are  happy, 

"With  their  angul  piumajjo  on  ; 
But  my  heart  is  v^ry  desolate 

To  think  that  ihpy  are  gone. 

Pare.  Bjbnjamik. 

What  is  the  condition  of  the  ransomed  soul  between 
deatli  and  the  resurrection  ?  Wherg  ai'e  now  the  spir- 
its of  our  piou3  dead  ?  The  forms  to  which  they  one* 
gave  life  and  beauty  are  slumbering  in  the  grave,  but 

*' Doet  thou  art,  to  dust  returntst, 
Was  not  written  of  the  soul.  " 

Fond  and  undying  affection,  still  weeping  and  lonely, 
frequently  arises,  and  sadly  asks,  Where  arc  they  f — 
Memory — as  she  calls  up  from  the  epectral  paat  th« 
visions  of  their  cherished  forms,  and  lowly  hums  th6 
voices  of  their  long  since  silent  tongues — asks  in  affect- 
ing earnestness.  Where  are  they?  Old,  stifled  emo- 
tions, which  once  wept  at  the  tomb  and  wailed  in- heart- 
felt sorrow,  do  often  awake  to  life  again,  and  inquire, 
Where  are  they  ?  As  we  gaze  upon  the  objects  which 
they  treasured,  and  mingle  in  the  scenes  which  they 
once  shared,  those  objects  and  scenes  take  each  a  nev- 
eral  tongue,  and  touchingly  ask  us,  Where  are  they? 
We  know  they  are  not  unhappy,  but  wc  nevertheleif 
feel  a  sta'cng  desire  to    know,  the  plaeeand  nannor  ef 


WHBRS  ARE    THEY  7S 

their  existence.  Several  opinions  liave  been  entertain- 
ed upon  this  question.  We  will  confine  ourself  to- the 
consideration  of  those  which  at  the  present  day  are 
more  or  less  popular,  pnssing  bj  the  flimsy,  specula- 
tive theories  of  th«  dreamer. 

First,  it  m  contended"  by  some  that  the  disembodied 
spirit  rests  in  an  unconscious,  unfeeling  state. 

This  is  e*asily  refuted.  The  parable  of  the  rich  man 
and  Lazarus  is  directly  against  it.  '^And  in  hell,  he 
(that  is,  Diyea,)  lifted  up  his  eyes,  being  in  torment,  and 
seeth  Abraham  afar  off,  andLazai'US  in  his  bosom.  And 
he  cried  and  said,  Father  Abraham,  have  mercy  on 
me.  and  send  Lazarus,  that  he  may  dip  the  tip.  of  his 
finger  in  water,  and  cool  my  tongue  ;  for  I  am  torment- 
ed in  this  -ilam?.  But  Abj-aha^n  said.  Son,  remember 
that  thou  in  th}'  lifetime  rcoeivedst  thy  good  things, 
and  likewise  Lazarus  «)vil  thing*? ;  but  now  he  is  cgju- 
forted^  and  thou  ai^  tormented."  Now  this  parable 
was  spoken  by  the.  Saviour,  and  therefore  does  not  teach 
what  is  false.  From  it  wo  learn  the  following  truths  : 
Departed  spirits  think,  reason,  and  communicate 
thought,  for  ''Abraham  said,"  &;c.  Secondly,  they  ore 
capable  of  some  feeling,  for  Lazarus  was  "comforted  ;" 
and  the  terin,  comforted,  means  more  thaninsensibihty. 
Thirdly,  they  are  capable  of  action ;  for  the  rich  man 
prayed  Abraham  to  "sc;i6?  Lazarus,"  proving  that  he 
regarded  him  truly  as  having  the  power  of  motion. 

The  facls  associated  with  the  Transfiguration  of  Je- 
sus, arc  againbt  this  tlieor}''.  Wc  are  told  that  Moses 
and  Elias  appeared  with  Christ  on  Mount  Tabor.  The 
Apostles,   as  they  aaw  them,  did  not    re;;ard  th«m  as 


74  MYRTLE    LBAVE0. 

• 

mere  vapory,  bcnselcsa  existoucos,  but  as  real,  liriiig, 
appreciating  spirits,  for  they  propoeed  to  erect  taber- 
nacles there  for  them  ;  and  they  tell  us,  moreover,  that 
they  If  ere  ^Halking  with  Him." 

Secondly,  others  contend  that  there  is  an  intermedi- 
ate abode. 

By  this  is  meant  a  spirit  land,  not  on  earth  and  not 
in  heaven — a  sort  of  relay  scene  between  this  'svorld  and 
perfect  glory.  I  know  of  but  one  argument  of  any 
plausibility  in  favor  of  this.  That  is,  Christ  told  the 
eonverted  thief,  ^'Tkis  day  thou  shalt  be  with,  me  in 
Paradise/'  and  after  he  was  risen  he  told  Mary  to  touch 
him  not,  for  he  had  not  yet  ascended  to  his  Father* — 
This  is  easily  answered,  if  we  consider,  as  appears  pro- 
per," that  he  meant  in  his  warning  to  Mary,  that  he  in 
his  body  had  not  ascended.  It  was  hie  body  which  alio 
was  about  to  touch,  and  that  to  which  he  may  hare  aj^- 
plied  the  remark.  But  this  is  explainable  on  several 
other  grounds.  We  pasi  on  to  the  arguments  in  favor 
of  what  we  think  is  the  trme  doctrine,  viz.  :  that  the 
sanctified  soul  goes  immediately  from  the  death  scene 
to  the  highest  heaven. 

The  following  proofs  from  Scripture  are  plain  and 
convincing. 

"To  be  absent  from  the  body  is  to  bo  present  with 
tfee  Lord."  Where  is  the  Lord  Jesus  V  "Received  up 
into  glory."  Then  to  be  present  with  Him  is  to  bo  in 
glory.  Christ  said  to  the  thief,  "This  day  thou  shalt 
be  with  me  in  Paradise."  •  The  only  question  is, — 
Where  is  Paradise  ?  Paul  tolls  us  that  he  was  caught 
up   into    the   third   heaven,  and  in  the  same  chapter 


WHHRE  ARE  :BSBY  ?  75 

ealls  tkat  "third  heayen,"  Paradiso.  "The  third  boar- 
en"  was  the  Jewish  phrase  for  the  highest  Heaven. 
"For  I  am  in  a  strait  betwixt  two,  having  a  desire  to 
depart  and  be  with  Christ,  which  is  far  better."  (Phil. 
i.  23.) 

Her«  the  Apostle  confidently  expresses  the  idea,  that 
^ for  him  to  depart  is  "to  be  with  Christ."  He  cannot 
simply  mean  to  be  present  with  Him,  as  to  his  omnipre- 
sent divinity,  for  he  enjoyed  that  on  earth.  He  must 
mean  His  more  appreciable,  visible  presence  in  glory. 
Then  ask  no  more,  ye  stricken-hearted,  "Where  are 
they?"  Whea  the  redeemed  spirits  left  the  body,  they 
rested  net  this  side  of  Heaven.  When  the  tongues  of 
Badness,  grief,  memory,  hope,  and  love  ir>quir§  for  them, 
listen  to  Mercy,  as  she  softly  whispers  from  glory, — 
"They  are  here."  And  catch  the  spirit-tones  that  those 
loved  ones  utter  in  the  land  of  life,  "We  are  here;  wo' 
are  here  ! "' 


n 


<mt'H  iHfft  ^gain." 


We  must  part  awhile  : 
,   A  f»^w  shcrl  monlhs— thoutjb  short  thpy  uiutt  be  lung 
\Vith.out  thy  ile«r  society  ;  but  ret 
We  i.iust  endure  it,  and  our  love  will  be 
Til  3  fond  r  after  parting — it  will  grot* 
.    Inieyiser  in  our  absence,  and  of/aitc 
Burn  with  a  tender  gloi*. 
Fear  not;  this  :s  nay  l-.st  reaolvo,  and  t/ns 
My  pai'ting  iokeyi. 

PiRcrTAL. 

''We'll  me«t  agarini"     These  words  are   a  pricclofs 
treasure  ;  for  the   hope  they  inspire  is    often  worth   a 
world.     They  are  a  precious  balm  to  friends  in  this  life," 
wlio  are  widely  separatc(?  by   duty  and  fortune.     They 
often  mingle  like  celestial  music  in  the  dirgcful  farewell, 
and  light  up  tlie  parting  tear  with  rays    of  bright  an- 
ticipation.     They  are  amonp;   the    angel  liands    which 
steal  away  the  anguish  and  the  sting  of  death.     They 
twine  like  unfading  ilowers  around  the  tombstones  of 
the  loved  and  fallen,  and  shed  a  soft  and  cheering  fra- 
grance on  the  hearts  of  surviving  friends.     They  are  a 
bow  of  mercy  and  peace,  which  spans  the  distance  from 
the  grave  to  glory— an  unclianging  covenant,  thntwhon 
life  is  o'er,  a  sweet  reunion  and  the  joys  of  everlasting 
friendship  shall  blesa  us  in  the  skies. 

The  charm  of  these  words  rests  in  the  fond  faith  ^^ 
indulge  in  the  doctrine  of  heavenly  recognition.     What 


^^Wl'r^L  MBIIT  1«ATN  I"  77 

joy  >TOuld  it  impart,  to  meet  our  friendi, /if  ^Te  could 
Hut  koow  and  identify  them  ?  Let  us  examine,  the 
grounds  of  the  delightful  belief,  and  soe  whether  they 
are  reliable. 

Memory  and  understanding  are  all  the  faculties  of 
the  mind  that  are  necessary  to  recognition.  That  these 
are  '-etained,  even  as  regards  matters  in  this  life,  is  ev- 
ident from  the  parable  of  the  rich  man  and  Lazaru*:. 
Abraliam  mentioned  the  respective  lives  and  fortunes 
of  tb<i  tWo,  and  then  indulged  in  some  reasoning 
about  motives  to  faith.  If  one  knows  and  remembers 
what  happened  in  the  lives  of  others,  for  a  still  stton- 
ger  reason  he  knows  and  remembers,  what  happened  in 
his  own  history. 

We  will  remember  that  many  of  our  friends  died  im- 
penitent and  unbelieving,  and  whether  we  recognize 
them  or  not,  we  will  .know  that  they  pre  lost;  but 
this  will  be  no  source  of  trouble  to  us,  for  whatever 
God  does  will  be  just  and  righteous  ;  and  whatever  is 
just  and  righteous  will  be  approved  and"  joyously  en- 
dorsed by  the  sanctified.  We  will  remember  others  who 
triumphed  in  death.  If  we  btill  knew  their  names  and 
their  histories,  would  we  not  have  sufficient  to  lend  to 
mutual  recognition  'i 

We  believe  that  saints  reiaiii  their  personal  identity. 
Abraham^waS  known  as  Abraham,  Lazarus  as  Lazarus; 
and  at  the  transfiguration,  Moses  and  Elijah  were  still 
regarded  as  Moses  and  Elijah.  If  our  friends  thus  re- 
tain their  identity,  will  we  not  be  able  to  know  them  ? 
David,  in  ANceping  over  his  child,  said:  "I  shall  go  to 
him,  but  h«  shall  not  return  to  m«."     Does  not  hi;^  Ian- 


78  MYKTLB    LBAYB8. 

guage  ilearly  express  the  hope  and  faith  that  he  would 
Again  know  him  as  his  child? 

Chrigt  told  the  weeping  sister,  as  a  consolation,  "Thy 
brother  shall  rise  again."  Do  not  these  words  clearly 
convey  the  idea  of  recognition  ?  Else  what  comfort 
do  they  give  ?  For  she  before  believed  in  the  doctrine 
of  the  resurrection. 

St.  Paul  wrote  to  the  CoUossians  that  he  had  labor- 
ed that  he  might  '^present  every  man  perfect  in  Christ 
Jesus."  How  could  ho  present  them,  if  ho  could  not 
rccogniEC  them  ?  To  the  Thessalonians  he  said  :  that 
they  were  his  hope  and  joy,  and  crown  of  rejoicing  "in 
the  presence  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  at  his  coming." 
Ilow  could  they  be,  if  he  did  not  and  could  not  know 
them?  In  other  places  he  uses  similar  language  to 
those  who  had  been  converted  under  his  ministry  :  thui 
appealing  to  that  godly  hope,  that,  when  the  storms  and 
trials  of  life  and  death  are  pa'st,  preacher  and  people, 
endeared  by  common  toils  and  triumphs  here,  should 
meet  around  the  great  white  Throne  and  shout  together, 
in  the  ineflable  raptures  of  the  redeemed. 

Oh,  then,  let  us  feast  on  the  sweets  which  this  good 
doctrine  brings.  It  is  true.  We  could  multiply  argu- 
ments, if  we  would,  but  what  we  have  written  is 
enough.  Oftentimes  love  and  friends!  'p  twine  the  ten- 
derest  cords  of  living  hearts  together;  deatli  comes,  and 
tears  them  asunder ;  one  falls  into  the  tomj),  and  others 
bleed  in  disconsolate  sorrow ;  but,  we  have  the  blessed 
assurance  that  those  broken  cords  shall  be  twined  again, 
and  bind  the  same  fond  hearts  together,  in  a  union  more 
holy  and  sweet,  which  shall  be  perpetuated  forever. 
We  must  all,  soon  or  late,  part  for  a  while,  but  if  we 
are  faithful  Chri»tiaas,  "We'll  meet  again!" 


Moti)tXj  ?t?omc  anlr    ]i}tabtn. 


In  wandering,  ono  day,  among  the  grares  ia  Laurel 
Hill  Cemetery,  I  was  attracted  by  a  large  and  hand- 
some monument  which  had  but  one  word  on  its  surface. 
I  walked  near  and  examined  it,  that  word  was  "Mother." 
It  was  only  one  word,  and  yet  it  was  enough.  Another 
letter  would  have  lessened  its  beautiful  pathos,  its  en- 
chanting power.  It  was  a  short  inscription  as  the  eye 
saw  it  and  the  tongue  uttered  it,  but  it  was  infinite  as 
the  hpart  interpreted  it..  I  read  it  with  my  heart.  It 
expressed  a  great  deal  more  than  I  can  write.  It  told 
me  about  smiles,  tenderness,  kindness,  consolation,  cheer 
and  love,  in  a  thousand  forms  of  blessing.  Then  it 
whispered  of  mingled  hope  and  dread,  of  the  gathering 
gloom  and  foreboding  as  the  cheek  was  paler,  and  the 
pulse  more  feeble.  Then  it  echoed  the  last  faint  but 
holy  counsels,  the  last  farewell,  the  last  hopeful,  tearful 
"kiss ;  and  then  spoke  of  all  the  tears  shed  and  the  sor- 
rows felt ;  and  gathering  a  world  of  meaning  in  a  word, 
it  said,  "There  is  a  home  without  a  rnother/'  I  thought 
of  that  home.  Its  brightest  light,  its  sweetest  song, 
its  truest  words,  its  dearest  joys,  its  noblest  wealth, 
and  its  guardian  angel,  were  no  more. 

Oh,  Heaven,  deal  tenderly  with  the  liomoH  without  a 
mother!  Home  is  next  to  Heaven,  but  hAvne  is  only 
homo  ^hon  th^rf '•  a  mother  th«re. 


80  MYRTLB    LEAVES. 

Ou  looking  upon  anotlicr  side  of  the  marble,  I  dis- 
covered  words  >yhichtoldrae  that  that  mother  had  only 
left  a  home  on  eartli,  for  a  home  in  heaven.  Then  I 
felt  less  sad.  My  sadness  began  to  melt  into  joy. 
Heaven!  Oh,  who  would  not  give  up  homdov  Heaven? 
Who  would  not  give  up  friends  to  Heaven  ?  Heaven! 
It  is  the  precious  poetry  of  our  glorious  faith,  the  su- 
j)reme  eloquence  of  infinite  mercy,  the  last  eternal  ex- 
cellence of  Christianity,  the  glory -crowned  queen  of  all 
worlds,  the  glittering  land  of  immortal  blenscdness. 

Hast  thou  lost  a  mother  ?  Did  she  die  in  hope  and 
peace  ?  Then  weep  no  more,  for  thou  hast  a  mother  at 
Jiome'm  Ileaven.  Mother!  Home!  Heaven!  Three 
strains  as  sweet  as  a  seraph's  song.  "A  mother  at 
home  in  Heaven."  A  son^  that  a  seraph  might  dolight 
to  sing ! 


■iiFoi'beii  oi]i?'  J^kh',  ^^^  ii)i^  Joiici)  Sl^K 


"IVas  evo,  and  Nature  slept  in  peace — 
The  SaV  her  coverinf]^,  gemmed  witli  stars ;       * 
While  'long  lUo  West,  .bright  blushing;  hues 
j^llll  lingered  like  a'  fringe  of  gold  : 
S.'ie  slept  like  one  w4io  R\veetly  knows 
•Slic's  loyed  and  1  loving  one, 

And  dreams  ^Yhi"  ' ■.^,  be  is  near, 

AmiI  sn:ib\i'  r.ivd  !wvc  a  tong;ne. 

l^^noa-iii   a  Ijrv'ud  a^]''  '■■[■•.\ov^y  elm 
A  soiil'i'i'  and  Ir!.-;  f  i;r*V.c"i-ol]ied 
In  (111  1  loved. 

.  'J'hey  Ioii;j;  liad  !shaie<i  tuooe  sacred  joys 
Wiiicli  kindred  hearts  cacli  other  give 
V/hcn  deep  ■afr'v.-'*-''->r'  niaiies  themoiir. 
T'lu:  ]\  >''>\o  y  ■  A$:>L  fire, 

Alive  to  duty  s  thiiliiiif: 
Had  eomc  to  fjrCathe  ii  k;.;     ..  ..,  a, 

And  give  a  pledge ef  changeless  love. 
'i'i\e  wiii'ning  visioliaof  his  scnl, 
111  droftflis,  in  fancy,  till  were  stained 
Vv'ith  tears  of  wec'ri;;;  y  '^nioeence, 
With  smoio  fro'  I  and  burning  homes, 

With    b!  led  hills  and  plains, 

Ant!  '■■•  -•■■-i;;  of  air 

*'  i  I  ;ippeal 

^ '  i  countrymen 

I'ry's  foe. 
..  ...  ,..  ...  .i  .-... ,  possesped 

.ot»  ftiithfiil  to  oppose 
The  7AKi\  nuignanin>oi>s,   'vbich  led 


82  MYRTLE   LEAVES. 

To  sacrifice  and  strife  and  pain, 
For  home  and  liberty  and  Heaven. 

Ho  spoko  with  trembling  voice  and  low: 

"  To-morrow,  Linda,  I  must  haste 

To  scenes  of  strife,  in' distant  fields  ; 

To  share  with  comrades,  brave  and  true, 

The  dangers  of  a  soldier's  life ; 

And  struggle  with  a  dauntless  soul 

For  l^uth  and  right  and  native  land. 

I  hate  this  war  and  every  war  : 

I  have  no  cruel  thirst  for  bluo.l, 

Nor  wish,  impelled  by  dark-rovenge, 

To  stand  beside  a  fallen  too, 

And  hear  him  groan  and  see  him  writhe 

Such  feelings  suit  a  demon's  breast. 

1  want  no  wreath  bestained  with  blood, 

No  praise  by  dread  destruction  won. 

I  follow  onl/  duty's  call, 

And  battle  only  for  the  cause 

That  all  the  good  and  Heaven  approve, 

'Twould  be  life's  Eden^ould  I  spend 

My  days  at  home  with  peace  and  tboc. 

Thou  knowest  this,  and  yet  I'm  sur% 

Thy  heart  would  love  me  lesis,  should  loYO 

Prevail  to  conquer  virtue's  power 

And  make  me  sheathe  the  sword  of  Right. 

I'm  here  once  more,  but  gone  again  ; 

Long  years  may  pass  ere  I  return. 

With  me,  remember,  life  itself 

And  memory  of  thee  are  one. 

But  ero  I  go  I'd  give  to  thee 

A  souvenir  which  shall  recall, 

With  angel  tongue,  my  name,  in  hours 

AVhen  precious  memory's  most  dear, 

And  hallowed  thoughts  most  hallowed  arc. 

For  this  I  will  not  leave  a  flvv-r  .• 


MORVEN   AND   LINDA  ;   OR   THE   TOKEN   STAR.        83 

Though  flowers  are  pure  and  beautiful, 
And  speak  a  language  full  of  love  ; 
They,  Linda,  early  droop  and  fade  : 
They  change  with  every  beam  and  breeze  : 
And  cannot  emblem  well  a  heart, 
Which  beats,  like  mine,  forever  true. 

I  will  not  leave  the  spai;js^ling  gem. 

The  golden  gewgaw  or  the  pearl, 

For  though  they  have  a  magic  tongue. 

That  speaks  with  potent  charms  to  some, 

Yet  gold  and  diamond  tonrjites  arc  dumb 

To  hearts  so  excellent  as  thine. 

I  will  not  leave  on  gilded  page 

The  painted  vows  which  poets  dream, 

Nor  aught  of  all  the  weird  pen 

Has  written  to  reveal  the  heart. 

Books  are  not  bosoms !     They  are  born 

Too  oft  where  only  thou(/lil  prevails  ; 

And  simple  types  can  never  tell 

The  faithful  fervor  of  a  s©ul 

Which  glows  and  thrills  with  ceaseless  love. 

And  books!     Manmade  them ;  saving  One, 

And  that  I  gave  thee  years  agone. 

I  will  not  leave  the  spoken  vow  ; 
For  as  I  speak  the  echo  dies 
Forever  to  the  mortal  ear. 

I  will  not  leave  my  miniature  ; 
It  does  not  smile,  I  smile  for  thee  ; 
It  does  not  pray,  I  pray  for  thee  ; 
It  does  not  look  with  burning  beam 
The  living  energy  of  soul : 
'Twould  seem  to  be  myself,  and  still 
'Twould  be  a  mockery  of  me. 
Behold  you  richly  radiant  Star! 
'Tis  there  all  seasons  of  all  years  ; 


84  MYRTLE   LEAVES. 

While  others  often  disappear 
To  shed  their  beams  in  other  skies, 
That  ahvays  looks  and  is  the  sanio, 
And  never  wearies  of  its  home. 
'L'lie  clouds  may  overshadow  it, 
The  sun's  unfriendly  splendor  hide  ; 
Yet  when  the  veiling  cloud  is  gone, 
Or  when  the  dazzling  dajj  is  done, 
It  shines  all  loveliness  again. 
It  is  a  tenant  of  Jie  sky  ; 
lis  rays  are  pure  ;  no  earthly  stain 
Makes  aught  of  its  soft  brilliancy. 
It  shines  by  night — to  guide  the  dews 
Oi>  visits  to  refresh  the  flowers, 
it  shines  by  night — like  one  who  lovos 
Tranquility  and  sacred  peace. 
It  sliines  by  night — as  faithful  hearts  • 

Seek  kindly  for  the  scenes  of  gloom. 
It  shines  by  night — while  nature  sleeps,— 
Thus  blessing  earth,  when  earth  knows  not  ; 
As  angels  bring  their  heavenly  gifts, 
And  breathe  sweet  messages  on  souls 
That  never  see  the  hands  that  give, 
Xor  know  the  precious  lips  that  speak. 
It  shines  by  night — directing  those 
Who  wander  over  pathless  hills, 
Or  ride  the  waves  vrith  compass  lost ; 
An  emblem  of  the  spirit  light 
Our  Father  sends,  to  guide  the  heart 
TJirough  moral  wilderness  and  Bturm.  • 
'That  Star,  and  that  alone,  I  leave. 
My  love  is  pure  as  starlight's  pure  ; 
'Tis  changeless  as  perennial  beam  ; 
"i\v-ill  be  the  same  though  parting  clouds 
Should  loAYcr  long  and  dark  between, 
lii'liold  it,  then,  and  call  it  fhiiic! 
To  mo  it  shall  a  l)eacon  be, 


MOllVEN    AND    LiiNi>A:    Oil  THE  TOKEN   yTAR.  85 


Commanding  every  dcod  of  life  ; 

Not  that  Fd  serve  thee  more  than  IL.'iivcn, 

But  tliat  I  knovr  thy  will  to  lie 

That^  I , should  only  Heaven  servo. 

Ag  did  th(?  star  of  Bethlehem, 

It  shall  proclaim  with  every  my 

The  language  of  eternal  hope  ; 

And  tell  us  of  that  higher  home,  % 

Where  forms  like  stars  shall  Uve  to  shiii<\ 

And  souls  like  stars  be  high  in  Heaven. 

'Twill  lead  us  to  look  up  to  Him 

Who  made  the  stars  to' make  us  blessed. 

'Twill  loll  us  of  the  love,  the  power, 

The  wisdom  and  the  grace  of  Him 

Who  deigns  to  be  our  Father  God. 

Then,  dearest  Linda,  we  can  pray  ; 

And  conataut  hope,  despite  all  fate, 

That  He  will  lead  us  once  again 

To  happy  union,  eiiher  here 

Or  ill  the  purer  light  of  Htianen  I  " 

Here  Linda  wept,  and  weeping  smiled ; 

Now  wa.s  it  strange  ;  for  in  jv  world 

Where  shade  and  sunshina  often  Join,  • 

The  hearts  are/tfw,  that  feel  not  oft 

Deep  cause  to  mingle  tears  witli  smiles. 

Then  Linda,  weeping,  smiling  said  ; 

"Oh,  Morven  !  ever  be  thyself! 

FU  tliink  of  th-eo,  Til  cherit-.h  thee,   . 

I'll  pray  for  thee,  I'll  \o\(i  but  thoc  : 

Be  sure  to  think  of  this  and  me ! 

Jlomcmber  me  each  fleeting  hour  ! 

Aye,  every  moment  think  of  me  I 

And  be  each  thought  of  me,  a  call 

To  struggle  for  the  right  and  Heaven ! 

That  Star's  our  pledge:  'lis  mine;  'tis  ikinc, 

I  shall  not  chang  ,  I'm  thine  forever. 

Good'byc  !     We  seek  the  same  bright  Home  ; 

We'll  meet  again,  I  hope,  on  earth 


86  MYRTLE  LEAVES. 

If  not  ou  earth,  still  shall  we  meet!" 
Months  fled  apace.     Each  dusky  evo, 
■Would  Linda  wander  to  the  spot 
AVhcre  she  and  Morven  wept  "adieu." 
When  there  she'd  cast  a  tearful  glance 
To  greet  the  gentle  little  Star — 
Then  meekly  bend  the  suppliant  knee, 
And  breathe  to  glory  prayers  like  this : 
"Oil,  Fatner !  show  him  yonder  Star ! 
When  in  his  blanket  wrapped  he  lays 
Ilis  wearied  form  upon  the  ground — 
Or  walks  the  sentry's  lonely  beat — 
Or  stands  on  outpost  dark  and  drear — 
Then  Father,  show  him  yonder  Star  I 
And  give  its  every  beam  a  tongue 
To  speak  with  power  to  his  soul ! 
Oh,  may  he  ever  faithful  be, 
As  that  is  faithful  in  its  sphere ! 
Bestow  on  him  a  cheerful  heart 
'Mid  all  the  trials  he  must  bear ! 
When  sick  in  crowded  hospital, 
Upon  his  little  bed  of  straw, 
He  thinks  of  distant  home  and  friends, 
And  sighs  for  tender  hands  and  hearts 
To  bless  him  in  his  suffering — 
But  sighs  in  vain.  All-present  One  ! 
Be  thou  his  Friend  and  Comforter  ! 
AVhen  on  the  field  'mid  serried  ranks, 
He  fronts  the  battle's  storm,   oh  God  I 
Be  round  about  him  !     Be  his  shield ! 
Oh,  be  his  great  deliverer  ! 
He  loves  me,  Father ;  make  that  love 
'  A  sweet  Evangel  to  proclaim 
His  duty  and  his  troth  to  Thee. 
Guide  all  his  footsteps  !     Make  his  life 
A  holy  Murathon  for  truth ! 
Oh,  may  he  always  trust  in  Thee, 
Reeeive  Q,nd  feel  Thy  boundless  lovo ! 


MORVEN  AND  LINDA  ;  OR  THE  TOKEN  STAR.         '   87 

May  all  his  words  and  actions  prove 
The  Christian  hero's  lofty  soul ! 
Preserve  and  bless  him  through  the  war, 
And  bring  him  safely  home  again  ! 
I  pray  for  peace!  oh  Lord,  how  long  I" 

Anon  the  beauteous  Linda  pined  ; 

The  lustre  of  her  noble  eye 

Grew^dim,  the  roses  on  her  cheek 

Were  faded  by  despondency. 

The  heart  was  sick  ;  and  when  a  heart 

Like  hers,  is  Ulled  with  gloom  or  pain, 

The  power's  felt  through  form  and  soul. 

No  more  in  gracefulness  she  tripped, 

In  evening  shades,  through  woody  bower. 

'Twas  seen  her  life  was  waning  fast, 

And  friends  were  shedding  secret  tears.. 

One  sunny  day  her  mother  sat, 

And  viewed  her  with  a  heart  of  grief, 

As  drooping  on  her  couch  she  lay  ; 

The  mother  thought  her  slumbering. 

She  was  asleep  to  all  around  ; 

Iler  soul  was  living  far  away. 

She  thought  with  fervid  hopes  of  him 

Who  '*loved  and  loves,  if  yet  he  lives.'' 

She  prayed  for  union,  but  not  here  ; 

Iler  spirit  looked  beyond  the  skies. 

Believing  d^ath  wxis  almost  come. 

She  softly  sighed  and  east  a  glance 

Of  melting  tenderness  ;  and  said : 

"Dear  mother  !  come  and  kiss  thy  child  ! 

I'd  feel  thy  sweet  embrace  once  moro  ; 

The  last  time  hear  thy  tender  voice. 

I'm  dying,  mother,  but  I  feel 

No  fear.     All's  ivell.     Bid  all  my  friends 

Draw  near  and  take  this  last  adieu." 

With  streaming  eyes  and  swelling  hearts, 


88  MYRTLE  LKAVEH. 

They  gathered  round  Ui'  uci). 

Received  the  dying  pled 
Caught  sacred  ■\varnin;!i;s  nu!;i  ;.";■  iji-. 
.Then  warmly  pressed  hor  littl^  luiml 
And  sighed  a  lingering  "fji' 
Again  she  spoke  ;  tliey  listor.€*d  all ; 
"Dear  friends;  I  ask  one  la'^t  kind  ]-l 
Soon  I  shall  sleep  in  sil«"'Tit  ^'\-ith  : 
Prepare  ni}'  grave  bonen 
Apd  bury  me  at  eventid.', 
When  stars  are  shining  in  tl 
Place  over  me  a  marble  blof 
Engrave  no  name,  but  cut  a- Star 
Upon  the  surface,  then  a  hand. 
With  finger  pointing  to  the  f^Uvr : 
And  mark!     Sliould  Morve  '.r:. 

Pray  tell  him  that  I  begged  vui: 
I  die — but  oh  !  be^'ond  all  urcai.. 
Of  joy  that  soul   e'er  droaiuod  behnv, 
The  real  ecstacy  of  Ilea  v. n 
Steals  richh^  on  my  wingir. 
I  die — but  only  die  to  lit-' . 
We  part — but  only  j^^'- 
WIip'c  those  loho  meet  shall  pdn  no 
This  day,  not  far  from  Malvern  Hill. 
Within  a  bloody  hospital 
Young  Morven  lay,  wiii 
From  loss  of  Idood  aud  v,  ;4  .  .  .  i  iueal,  • 
And  dread  fatigue,  hi:*  face  ,.•  ^^.^^^-~ 
llis  voice  was  tremulous  an 
And  yet  to  comrades  lying 
And  writhing  in  their  blood  :w 
lie  often  spoke  consoling  word-; 
And  strove  to  calm  their  aching  heii  • 
With  feeble  hand  He'd  hokl  the  cup, 
To  dying  soldiers'  fevered  lips, 
And  sigh  for  strength  to  help  tliommorc. 


MORVEN  AND  LINDA  ;    OR  THE  TOKEN  STAR. 

He  talkod  to  them  of  holy  trust 

In  Ilini  Avho  promises  to  heed 

TJio  Iium blest  cry  tliat's  raided  to  II im, 

For  lielp  and  mercy,  through  His  Son : 

lie" spoke  of  blissful  rest  and  peace, 

Within  the  Beautiful  of.  Lands, 

AVhere  war's  alarms  are  never  felt, 

And  cruel  foes  are  never  feared. 

While  speaking,  sweet  serenity 

Was  on  his  features,,  and  a  smile* 
AV'ould  often  play  upon  them,  like 
The  ripple  from  a  gentle  breeze 
Upon  the  bosom  of  a  lake 
That  rests  in  sunny  petlcefulness. 
But  soon  night  came,  and  o'er  his  weak 
And  wearied  frame,  soft  slumber  fell. 
Then  fancy  rose  and  ruled  the  mind. 
Creating  freshly  vanished  hours. 
And  lading  them  with  pleasures  gone. 
So  faithful  was  she  to  the  past, 
He  seemed  to  live  it  all  again. 
Fair  Linda  rose  in  visions  brigl^l. 
And  joined  him  in  a  thousand  scenes 
Of  youthful  hope  and  happiness. 
Her  voice  was  love's  own  melody. 
Her  every  glance  a  pledge  of  love. 
How  beat  his  heart  with  gladness  then  I 
'Twas  feasting  on  the  sacred  joys 
Of  dearest  memory,  combined 
With  other  joys  he'd  hoped  for  long, 
And  oft  had  viewed  with  ardent  eye, 
In  scenes  that  coiT'ing  days  should  bring. 
But  blissful  as  this  dream,  so  dark 
The  cloud  of  gloom  which  soon  should  wrap 
Its  dismal  folds  around  his  heart. 
He  wakes  and  finds  beside  him  one, 
.Who  knew  him  in  his  distant  home. 
9 


MYRTLE    LEAVES. 

They'd  long   been   friends  with  m#ii;il  nust 
"Were  kind  and  true  as  bTcthers  are. 
They  loved  to  bless  each  other  still. 
IIo  held  a  candle  in  one  hand, 
"And  gave  a  letter,  which  ho  said 
Contained  perchance  some  news  from  homo  : 
Their  homes  were  captured  by  the  foc" 
The  month  they  left,  and  nut  a  lino 
Had  they  received  from  home  and  friends. 
"Witii  eage.r  hand  he  opened  it, 
But  found  no  name.     'Twas  written  by 
Some  cruel  one  to  torture  him, 
And  blight  his  love  and  happiness. 
By  one  who  hud  a  traitor  turned 
To  all  tliat-'s  noble  in  the  heart. 
To  friendship,  native  land  and  Heaven  ; 
And  who  still  sought  the  lovely  hand 
Of  Linda,  .his  own  sweet  betrothed. 
This  letter  told  him  startling  things. 
It  taught  him  that  he  was  forgot — 
That  Linda  loved  another  now. 
It  gave  him  all  her  cruel  words. 
When  she  renounced  her  olden  vow 
And  to  another  pledged  her  all. 
This  ueM's  was  strange — 'twas  terrible, 
And  gained  dominion  over  him. 
IIo  strove  to  doubt  it,  think  it  false. 
But  all  in  vain  ;  it  would  seom  true. 
He  begged  his  friend  to  lend  his  arm 
And  lead  him  to  a  neigh])oring  grove; 
There  sadly  sinking  to  the  ground, 
lie  gave  the  letter  to  that  friend 
And  begged,  "  now  leave  mc  all  alone." 
Oh,  what  a  burden  pressed  his  heart ! 
He  leaned  his  head-  upon  his  hand 
And  mused  a  while  and  deeply  sighed  ; 
Then  with  a  doleful,  anguished  voice. 


MORVEN  AND   LINDA  ;    OR   «1B  tOKHN   iTiB.        01 

fie  uttered  this  soliloquy  : 

"  Oh,  Linda  I  Linda  I  can'  it  bo  I        ' 

What  is  there  left  to  comfort  me  ? 

The  past  I  love,  but  tha*  is  gone. 

The  present  is  a  soldier's  lot. 

Privation,  suffering  and  pain  ; 

The  sweetest  hope  the  future  lends, 

Of  blessings  human  friends  can  give,  « 

Is  what  a  joy  may'  gladden  it. 

By  her  fidelity  and  love. 

And  if  she's  false — the  worldls  fals». 

For  she  was  truest  of  the  world. 

If  she'be  false — life's  lifht  Is  fled. 

And  oh  1  to  think,  I'm  so  deceived, 

By  one  I  lc^<?d  with  such  a  1ot«  I 

I  should  have  deemed  her  pledged  to  m^ 

Without  the  fervent  pledges  given. 

She  smiled  sometimes  when  we  would  meet^ 

With  gentleness  enough  to  quell 

The  raging  ofa  breaking  heart. 

She  spoke  sometimes  with  angel  ttngue, 

Such  words  as  lingei;  sweetly  yet, 

Like  music  from  the  vales  of  Peace. 

Ten  thousand  little  favers  done, 

Proclaimed  a  loving  woman's  love. 

These  smiles,  and  words,  and  favors  tM^ 

Or  each  would  make  it  treachery 

And  deep  decejjtion,  were  she  false  ; 

But  add  to  these  the  plighted  vows, 

So  eft  ffepeated,  and  at  last 

Embfilmed  in  holy  partiag  tears  I 

Oh  love  1  oh  treachery  I  cau  it  b«  T 

How  base  the  crime  of  dark  deceit  I 

It  was  the  primal  fount  of  sin  ; 

It  withered  all  of  Eden's  bowers. 

And  stained  her  every  crystal  stream. 

It  is  tha  darkest  trophy-gem, 

Whose  lurid  sparkling  crowna  the  brow 

Of  him  who  reigns — the  Prince  of  w«e. 


02  AJPTRTLB   LEAVES. 

If  I  would  be  on  earth  a  fiend, 
Deception  first  should  fill  my  soul ; 
And  if  a  fiend  I'd  ever  ^e, 
I'd  wed  deceiving- to  my  life. 
It  is  the  antithesis  of  truth — 
Then  is  it  black  as  truth  is  bripiht, 
And  truth  is  bright  enough  for  Heaven. 
Aad  ean  a  crime  like  this  be  done 
Aud  fostered  in  the  pious  breast 
Of  Linda,  whom  we  ever  thought 
The  child  of  purity  and  truth?" 
If  false,  her  fall  is  one  that's  lests 
Alone,  than  that  which  ami  els  fell.'' 

O'crwhelmed  with  thoughts  like  those,  he  paus^ed. 

And  soon  his  words  were  changed  to  tears. 

Then  sweetly  on  the  silent   air— 

Soft  molting  strains  of  music  came. 

The  notes  were  those  of  "Home,  sweet  Home." 

They  shed  enchantment  o'er  his  soul. 

Unwittingly  he  looked  away 

To  where  the  Token  Star  still  shone. 

K  beam  of  beauty  kissed  his  soul, 

And  waked  it  from  its  reverie. 

As  swift  as  morning  shadoAvs  fly 

When  waves  of  sunlight  flood  the  sky — 

So  swift  his  painful  doubtings  fled 

And  all  his  heart  was  trust  again. 

"  No,  Linda  !  I'll  believe  thoe  true, . 

Till  thine  own  lips  declare  thee  false. 

No  nameless  letter  can  destroy 

The  trust  o^  this  unchanging  heart. 

Thy  faithfulness  is  written  high 

Upon  the  bosom  of  the  sky, 

In  changeless  characters  of  liglit. 

'Tis  written  too,  in  golden  lines 

Upon  ten  thousand  snowy  leaves, 


MGRVEN   AND   LINDA ;    OR   THE   TOKEN   STAR.       93 

Of  thy  past  angel  iTistory. 

Siicli  proof's  are  worthier  far  of  faith 

Than  all  that  ei-ting  man  can  write. 

I  will  not,  cannot  doubt  thee  more." 

Long,  changeful  months  of  strife  passed  o'er ; 

But  not  one /ear  or  c7o»/6^  arose 

To  trouble  Morvon's  trust  again. 

At  length  he  learned  with  grateful  heart, 

The  foe  were  driven  from  his  honre ; 

Just  then,  most  fortunate,  there  came 

A  leave  of  absence  from  his  corps, 

That  he  might  visit  homo  ohce  more. 

How  buoyant  was  his  noble  breast ! 

Alone  he  sped  fiis  hopeful  way. 

To  those  who  love  and  know  they're  loved, 

How  sweet  anticipation  is 

"When  blessed  reunion  is  at  band  ! 

His  journey  done,  at  last  he  came 

By  starlight  to  the  cherished  elm. 

When  near,  he  gazed  and  saw  the  shaft; 

His  heart  beat  fast,  ho  thought  'twas  she. 

Love  could  not  wait;  it  instant  spoke  : 

"Oh  Linda  !  Linda  !  loved  and  dear  !" 

He  listened,  not  a  sound  he  heard. 

Still  gazing,  to  himself  he  said  :     * 

"It  must  be  Linda  and  she  fears  ; 

Methinks  I  see  her  tremble  now. 

Again  he  cried  with  voice  of  love  ; 

"  Sweet  Linda  !  I  am  home  again  V 

No -word  he  caught,  no  motion  saw. 

He  drew  him  near,  descried  the  shaft ; 

His  hopes  were  faint,  he  quaked  with  dread ; 

He  stooped,  he  saw  the  marble  Star, 

He  shrieked:  "  Oh  Heaven  !  'Tis  Linda's  tomb  ! 

And  is  she  dead  ?  Oh,  is  she  dead  ? 

Is  this  tlio  homo  of  hallowed  joy. 


94  -  MYRTLE  LEAVES. 

* 
Become  the  dreary  scene  of  death  ? 
Oh,  that  I  could  have  present  been, 
To  hear  her  dying  words  and  prayers  I 
For  they,  I  know,  were  treasures  dear, 
That  even  angels  love  to  prize. 
She's  gone,  and  with  her  all  I  loved 
And  cheerished  most  this  side  of  Heaven. 
Shoe's  gone,  to  fadeless  Glory  gone, 
She  waits  me  on  yon  peaceful  shore. 
Up  there,  if  we  should  meet  again,     • 
Eternal  union  would  he  ours ; 
For  this  sweet  thought,  I  thank  kind  Heaven. 
Thrice  blessed  th«y  who  meet  on  high  I 
Their  lives  and  blessings  never  end. 
Oh,  what  a  boon  it  were  to  die, 
And  hie  me  to  her  better  home  1 
But  nay  ;  the  Father's  will  be  done  ! 
I'll  weep  no  more  ;  instead  of  tears, 
Her  memory  shall  waken  prayers. 
Thou  breaking  heart  I  go  feel  for  those 
"Who  need  and  bleed  in  wretchedness  I 
There's  something  left  to  live  for  still ! 
Go,  guide  these  hands  to  scatter  peace 
In  every  helpless  heart  and  home  I 
Live  like  the  shining  angels  live, 
In  usefulness  and  holiness  ! 
Then  smiles  from  thy  Redeemer  still 
Shall  gently  gather  over  thee, 
And  cheetthee  on  thy  lanely  way. 
Thus  beat  away  thy  fleeting  days, 
And  soon  thy  liberty  shall  come. 
This  block  proves  Linda  was  herself       : 
As  long  as  change  was  possible ; 
She's /rwer  now — she's  glorified — 
She  lives  where  hearts  can  never  change.'^ 

*' Oh  Morven  I  Morven  !  Is  it  thou  1 
Thy  Linda  lives  1  Wo'ye  met  again!" 


MORVBN    AND   LINDA;    OR   THE  TOKEN   STAR.         95 

The  voice  was  hers,  he  knew  it  well. 

He  sprang,  excited,  to  his  feet. 

Ho  looked  and  lo !  all  beautiful, 

Came  Linda  rushing  to  his  arms  ! 

He  pressed  her  to  his  bounding  heart, 

And  cried  with  fervid,  trembling  voice  : 

"Oh  Linda  !     Is  this  all  a  dream  ? 

Can  such  a  glory  real  be  ? 

What  means  it  ?     Tell  me,  quickly  tell !" 

'Twas  long  before  a  word  she  spoke, 

But  sobbing,  quivering,  she  lay 

Enfolded  in  his  loving  arms. 

When  joy^s  first  thrilling  shock  was  passed, 

8ho  smiled  with  glowing  love  and  said : 

**  Dear  Morvern  !  just  ten  months  ago, 

I  almost  slept  the  sleep  of  death. 

When  I  believed  nay  end  was  near,  «■ 

I  begged  my  friends  to  build  a  tomb 

Of  marble  and  engrave  it  thus. 

But  Heaven  graciously  prolonged 

My  life,  and  gave  me  health  again. 

Anon  we  heard  the  bloody  news 

Of  battles  round  our  Capital. 

You  do  not  know  the  dread  suspense,  - 

The  trembling,  tearful  anxiousness, 

That  those  at  home  experienced. 

When  they  have  learned  a  battle's  fought 

And  cannot  hear  the  fate  of  friends. 

It  cdothes  all  countenances  in  gloom. 

By  day  and  night  the  heart  in  sad, 

And  though  so  eager,  dreads  to  hear. 

I  never  shall  forget  the  day 

A  paper  came,  in  which  were  given 

The  names  of  all  our  Southern  slain. 

How  tremblingly  I  read  that  list ! 

I  hurried  almost  madly  on. 

Till,  oh  !  my  eye  beheld  thy  name  I 


96  MYRTLE   LEAVES. 

m 

I  cannot  tell  thee  what  I  felt — 

I  can't  remember  what  I  felt ; 

For  'twas  a  shoS'k  which  rent  my  heart 

As  lightning  rends  the  stricken  tree. 

Then  iviih  a  love  that  could  not  die, 

I  straight  resolved  to  raise  this  tomb 

To  thy  most  precious  memory.'^ 

**  Oh  Linda  !  such  delight  as  this, 

AVith  such  amazing  mercy  fraught, 

Demands  the  instant  offering 

Of  warmest  gratitude  to  Heaven. 

Let's  kneel  and  praise  our  gracious  Go  1 

Whose  '  wondrous  love  has  blessed  us*s3 !'  " 


r  1]  c    jj  i|  r  i  c  0    ,3l  0  e  ii . 

!     *    .:!.''l  iilorig  the  ocean  ])each 

rativc  mood 
To  leiisb  oil  nature';^  charms  and  spend 

A  soa.son  with  my  (irod  ; 
Around  me  were  unnumbered  shells, 

Those  tokens  billows  earn 
From  ocean  and  in  love  present 

'j\,  i,!..:!  r<^  f]ir>  shoves  rotnrn. 

Of  all  thu.se  shells,  but  .ono  had  power 

My  vision  to  enchain ; 

Nor  could  I  tell  why  it  should  oliarm, 
[^■n-  X'j  vr:t>;  s'nall  and  plain. 

Bat  raisin;^  it,  bcnnath  I  found 
A  L.>,.'i<  oi  raven  hnir  ; 

\'v"  .:  1  all  iT!.}^  thiu'^'hts  to  seekin;^  turuod 
[[  1  ,  '  happen  there.- 

Soon  Fancy  rose  oi  kindness  full, 

k]\'\  ■i<  irkaowinii;  well 
liow  much  I  Avislied  it,  instantly 

TtH  liistory  did  tell : 
"  This  Lock  of  hair  once  i^ently  liun^i; 

IJpv.u  the  brov/  of  one, 
^Yhose  gentleness  and  excellence 

A  tliou'^and'licarts  had  vron. 

Arouu-1   her  clustered  hopes  aud  prayers 

Aud  love  as  Avarm  jind  true 
As  (:\,:v  lioly  loveliness 

From  faithful  friendship  drew 
While  cherished  thus  malign  diseasQ, 

xUas  !  came  on  apace, 


98  MYRTLE  LEVAES. 

And  pale  and  mute  despondency 

Soon  sat  upon  her  face.  , 

'Twas  hoped  that  change  and  travel  might 

Her  failing  health  restore 
So  entering  a  noble  craft 

She  left  her  native  shore  ; 
"While  voyaging  she  loved  the  deck, 

And  oft  would  linger  there 
To  gaze  upon  the  waters,  or  watch 

The  sky  serene  and  fair. 

She'd  smile  sometimes  as  if  her  soul 

Were  on  the  breast  of  Peace  ; 
So  sweet  these  smiles,  who  saw  them  sighed 

That  they  should  ever  cease. 
They  loved  her  too — those  dauntless  ones 

Who  on  that  vessel  rode — 
They  said  that  not  this  world,  but  Heaven, 

Would  suit  for  her  abode. 

One  awful  night  there  rose  a  storm 

And  fiercely  round  them  raged ; 
I  cannot  tell  thee  how  those  winds 

And  waves  their  warfare  waged  ; 
If  thou  would'st  know  a  storm  at  sea, 

To  sea  thyself  must  go, 
For  whom  the  tempest  never  meets 

It  terrors  cannot  know. 

Then  quaked  the  ship  as  woman  quaked 

When  hemmed  between  the  hosts 
That  erst  with  raging  vengeance  fought 

Our  Scotland's  hills  and  cofists. 
Ten  dreadful  hours  she  weathered  well, 

AVhile  'bove,  around,  beneath. 
There  seemed  a  wild  conspiracy 

To  work  her  instant  death. 


THE   BURIED     LOCK*  99 

Anon  she  groaned  as  though  she  had 

A  bleeding,  breaking  heart, 
And  all  with  shrieks  of  agony 

Beheld  her  timbers  part  1 
Oh  what  a  scene  ensued  I  all  prayed ! 

All  tongues  forget  to  curse 
When  roaring  billows  shroud  in  death  * 

And  whirling  fragments  pierce. 

Among  them  floated  Eoline, 

The  Beautiful  and  Fair  I 
And  she  was  most  resigned  and  calm 

Of  all  who  struggled  there ; 
JFor  ihe  had  trusted  Heaven's  love 

And  Heaven  kindly  gave  • 

A  wondrous  peace  which  lived  and  blessed 

Mid  fatal  wind  and  wave. 

Just  as  her  lovely  spirit  fl«d 

There  drifted  near  a  plank 
And  caught  this  single  token  Lock 

Before  her  body  sank. 
It  floated  thus  for  many  weeks 

,  Upon  the  stormy  main, 
Till  landed  on  this  quiet  shore 

Where  now  for  months  it's  lain. 

I'll  tell  thee  now  why  thus  the  Lock 

Beneath  this  sh^ll  was  laid : 
They  both  one  time  had  life,  but  those 

Who  were  their  life  are  dead. 
The  Lock  lies  here  that  it  may  be 

Like  buried  Eoline ; 
It  makes  the  shell  it's  sopulchfo, 

Her  grave's  the  swelling  brine. 

The  Lock  rests  here  as  if  to  hear 
The  tidal  billows  sing 


100  MYRTLE    LEAVES. 

Her  irequlem  and  fondly  wait 
Till  she  from  death  shall  sprin,;;. 

They  emblem  too  that  woful  scene — 
That  wild  catastrophe 

When  by  the  tempest  wrecked,  the  ship 
Consigned  her  to  the  sea. 

The  iTock  still  lingers  on  the  shore 

To  warn  and  counsel  those 
Who  sail  in  ships,  to  tell  them  how 

That  night  the  storm  arose. 
But  most  'twould  guard  them,  'gainst  the  s»l  'Vn 

That  visit  land  and  sea. 
Creating  wrecks  more  horrible 

Than  mortal  eye  can  see. 

That  woful  night  when  they  wore  wrecked, 

Loud  wailings  made  the  brave  ; 
A  darker  storm  than  that  without 

Swept  o'er  a  fiercer  wave. 
Geat  Death  was  wrecking  deathless  souls, 

A^id  oceans  of  despair 
Rolled  waves  of  sorrow  and  of  woe 

Against  eternal  air. 

Ah,  how  those  wretched,  guilty  ones 

Begged  mercy  while  they  died  ! 
For  death  compelled  tliem  now  to  make 

The  prayers  which  Iti'e  denied. 
And  many  perished  in  that  storm — 

Went  down  to  rise  no  more,   . 
Till  stranded  in  a  gale  of  fire 

Upon  the  Burning  Shore  ! 

These  spirit-storms  shall  surely  come 

To  all  wkp  will  not  give 
♦^  Their  heart  to  Christ,  the  Sinner's  Friend, 

Who  died  that  they  might  live. 
Then  bow  to  Ilim  and  seek  His  love, 

And  when  thy  life  is  o'er 
He'll  pilot  thee  across  the  fliood 

To  Canaan's  blissful  shore. 


S  i)  c  i  ,s    S  0 1]  e . 


"Sad  I  am  I  uor  sra-ill  is  my  ctiina  of  woo. 
Daura,  thou  wert  fiiir  ; 
Fair  as  the  moon  on  Fans, 
Wrtite  as  tho  drivon  snow, 
S  voot  as  the  brrathing  galo." 

Tlicre  is  a  sweet,  a  cherished  spot 
Tlie  place  where  lirst  we  met, 

Which,  though  all  others  be  forgot, 
I  never  can  forget. 

There  is  a  love-sequestered  home, 

That  is  to  me  more  dear 
Thau  princely  hall  or  goi-geous  dome, 

For  she  was  nurtured  there. 

There" was  a  darkly  beaming  eye, 

Of  loveliness  supreme, 
Through  which  a  soul  of  purity 

Looked  forth  in  holy  beam. 

There  was  a  voice  su'^jlimely  sweet, 

A  cheery,  melting  voice, 
A  voice  with  love  and  hope  replete. 

The  music  of  my  choice. 

There  was  a  tender,  playful  smile. 

Tliat  erst  my  ])o.som  cheered, 
And  ahnost  made  mo  dream  tho  whih', 

An  angel  had  appeared. 


102  MYRTLB  LDaVBS. 

Alas,  there  is  a  cruel  grave, 
Which  sadly  from  me  won. 

The  dearest  friend  that  Heaves  gave  ; 
And  I  am  left  alone. 

Is  that  eye  closed,  and  that  sweet  voice 
Now  hushed,  forever  more  ? 

And  shall  that  smile  no  more  rejoice 
My  spirit  as  of  yore  ? 

Ah,  yes  ;  His  true  !  and  sad  the  truth  ! 

But  then  I  know  she's  gone 
To  live  .in  sweet, immortal  youth, 

Around  the  Father's  throne. 

Gh  !  earnest  then  shall  be  my  prayer, 
And  constant  my  endeavor, 

That  I  at  last  may  meet  her  there, 
To  part  no  more  forever. 


A  littlo  child  with  pale  and  quiet  face 
On  death's  cold  bosom  leaned  his  weary  head, 
-Although  his  tender  feet  ne'er  knew  a  thorn, 
Nor  pressed  the  scorching  sand  or  chilling  snow, 
Still  had  he  trod  the  ways  of  suffering — 
Had  oft  been  pilgrim  to  the  shrino  of  pain. 

Just  as  the'spirit  winged  its  skyward  flight, 
And  as  the  mother  knelt  beside  the  couch, 
To  kiss  his  ransomed  soul  a  last  adieu, 
One  tiny  tear  escaped  his  closing  eye, 
And  like  a  pearl  of  beauty  decked  his  cheek. 

All  tears  have  language  deep  and  full  of  power, 

But  this  a  language  specially  its  own. 

It  said  **  If  shed  not  now,  I'll  ne'er  be  shed. 

He's  going  where  there's  no  more  need  of  tears  ; 

The  winging  spirit  sent  me  to  declare 

It's  ever-living  fondness,  and  to  give 

A  holy  promise  that  it  will  rejoin 

Its  earth  companion  in  the  Kising  Day. 

I'm  likewise  emblem  of  the  morning  dew 

Upon  the  spotless  lilly,  saying  sweet, 

**  The  night  is  gone  !'     This  life  is  night  to  heaven. 

And  more,  I'm  tribute  to  a  njother's  love  ; 

I  come  to  meet  her  tender  parting  kiss, 

Fori,  in  love's  blest  language,  mean  "good-bye." 

I  ftlso  sprang  from  holy  thoughts  like  those 

Whioh  made  the  Saviour  weep  at  Bethaay. 

My  mission  is  for  sympathy  to  those 

Who  still  must  suffer  in  a  troublous  world, 

While  there's  a  world  so  wondrous  sweet  as  Heaven/' 


104  MYRTLE   LEAVE.'^. 

Ah  !  there's  a  beauty  in  the  soul,  this  life 
AVith  all  its  myria'l  tongues  cannot  vevoal ; 
And  there's  a  better  life,  the  trammelled  sonl, 
Can  dream  but  faintly  of,  while  prisoned  iior.. 
There's  much  of  loveliness  to  temper  oartli  ; 
But  oh  !  the  glory  of  the  Land  of  Love  I 
There's  much  of  music  here  to  bless  the  heai-t 
With  charms  of  peace  and  thrills  of  sacred. joy 
Rich  music  floating  from  the  countless  h^rps 
Of  Mercy,  strung  by  more  than  ang«l  hand. 
And  made  to  pour  their  soothing  melody 
Upon  the  bosom  of  this  '  tainted  air;' 
But  oh!  we  know  that  here  we  do  not  catchy 
The  faintless  echoes  of  the  faded  notes 
Of  that  celestial  melody  which  rings 
Through  Heaven  in  one  eternal  gale  of  son'!;. 
Vibrating,  as  it  rings,  on  gslden  wires 
.  Which  swim  in  music  from  the  shining  liar]*?^ 
That  sound  harmonious  with  the  voice  of  God. 
There's  mercy  there  we  cannot  understand. 
Or  else  the  hearts  that  love  ns  here  aiul  !•<  o 
To  such  a  land,  would  weep  to  knov,-  that  v.h 
Still  faint  and  shiver  in  a  world  of  '/\u  ! 


Jbe  SolSieir'^  "  ^^i^eivell. 


•         HE  SLEEPS  0N"^HE  PLAINS  OF  MANAlS'SAS; 


In  days  that  have  elapspd,  Kate, 

Since  we  together  met, 
We  oft  have  shared  in  joys,  Kate,- 
.    That  I  shall  ne'er  forget.       ;, 

Though  oft  those  days  appear,  Kate, 

Our  happiest,  to  me, 
I  pray  that  life  may  bring,  Kate, 
,        Far  happier  days  to  thee. 

AVhatever  fortune  come,  Kate, 

We  never  must  unloose 
The  silken  bond  of  love,  Kate, 
^  That  long  united  us. 

*  '  . 

Our  life  paths  here  diverge,  Kate, 
And  we  cannot  tell  whether 

Within  this  changeful  life,  Kate, 
They'll  ever  come  together. 

But  as  these  little  paths,  Kate, 
Which  we  so  loved  to  roam. 

From  every  course  led  back,  Kate, 
To  our  sequestered  home; 

So  all  the  paths  of  niglii,  Kate, 
■   No  matter  what  or  where, 
Bend  ever  to  fhe  skies,  Kate, 
And  aU  meet  sweetly  ihere. 
10 


'Twas  soft,  serene,  refreshing  eve  ; 
The  setting  sun  a  shadowy  veil 
Had  woven  o'er  Niagara's  shores, 
When  one  with  heart  of  conscii)us  peace, 
Came  calmly  from  her  silent  home,  ;' 

To  wander  'long  the  verdant  banks, 
And  'mid  the  cataract's  wild  roar. 
Commune  with  solUude,  and  tell 
The  thoughts  and  feelings  of  a  soul 
All  innocence  and  loveliness. 

She  loved  the  beau-tiful  aad  good. 

And,  as  with  all  the  wise  and  pare, 

Each  leaf,  each  bud,  each  smiling  flower, 

Spake  mystic  language  to  her  sou}. 

•»  . 
How  innocent  and  lovely,  is 

The  signtimental  love  of  flowers  I 

And  who  oan  love  them  as  they're  loved. 

By  meek  and  tender  woman's  heart  ? 

And  who  can  pluck  them  from  their  stem 

So  well  as  gentle  woman  can  ? 

She  looked — a  thousand  floral  gems 

Were  glist'ning  charmingly  around. 

Her  hand  soon  held  a  rich  boquet. 

To  which  when  turned  her  melting  eye,  . 

A  far  more  sacred  peaceful n ess 

Sank  tranquilly  upon  her  soul  ; 

And  eartb'ssublimost  joy  was  her's. 

Before  her,  still  full  many  bloomed  ; 
A  single  glance  upon  their  hues, 
■And  she  was  captive  to  their  charms.^ 


THE   FATAL   FLOWER.  107 

.  Another  and  another  still 
She  from  its  parent  stem  removed  :  .** 

Unconsciously,  with  nimble  step, 
She  neared  the  ever-cruml)liiig  vcrc;e, 

Which  bounds  the  deep*  and  dread  abyss. 
Anon  a  mystic^voice  within 
Disturbed  her  hfcart,  and  bade  her  be 
Distrustful  of  the  treacherous  brink  :  * 
But  still  her  heaven-savoring  heart, 
Too  pure  to  tremble  with  a  fear, 
Inclined  her  on  to  pluck  yet  more. 

One,  passing  bright  and  beautiful. 

Was  blooming  on  the  very  verge. 

'Twas  fair  as  only  flowers  are  fair  ; 

And  on  its  every  brilliant  leaf 

The  crystal  spray  was  sparkling  bright. 

Enriching,  with  more'  lovely  tints, 

Its  every  eye-enchanting  hue. 

I'This  one  I'll  pluck,"  she  instant  thought, 

"And  then  I'll  to  my  home  return." 

*• 

Swift  to  the  spot  she  lightly  ran,    * 
And  standing  o'er  it  gazed  awhile, 
WitU  raptured  heart  and  eye  entranced. 
Upon  its  varied  loveliness.     * 

Qh  I-  what  a  lovely  s^ht  was  this  ! 
'Twas  Beauty's  self  most  beautiful ! 

**Come,  little  angel,  you  are  mine," 
Sho  said,  and  plucked  if  from  its  stem. 

Alas  I     Alas!     The  fatalturf, 

As  if  unconscious  of  the  pure 

And  precious  burden  it  sustained, 

Gave  wat/~and  down— alas  1  and  down 

Niagara-'s  rugged  chasm  fell 

This  child  of  purity  and  love !  -    * 


108  MYRTLE  LEAVES. 

And  as  she  fell,  her  dying,^ips 
Shrieked  forth  a  wild  and  thrilling  cry, 
Which,  spite  the  thunder  of  the  Falls, 
Fell  strange  on  many  startled  ears. 
That  cry  1     Oh  !  Jleaven,  what  a  cry  ! 
It  was  the  piercing,  awful  knell 
Of  i\\l  life's  hopes — of  life  itself. 
These  wore  the  words,  her  dying  words, 
"The  Fatal  Flower  !  The  Fatal  Flower !'' 

Along  the  stream  of  sin  and  death, 
A  thousand  cataracts,  more  deep 
Than  great  Niagara's  abyss, 
i  Dash  down  their  torrents,  huge  and  dire  ; 

And  on  their  banks  sweet  flowers  bloom, 
Whose  fragrance  captivates  the  soul— 
Whose  beauty  conquers  conquerors. 
The  wandering  spraj^bedims  the  sight, 
And  makes  all  danger  seem  afar-; 
N®  thunder  'drum  a  warning  gives. 
To  tell  how  near  the  chasm  yawns  ; 
Yet  God  and  conscience  softly  speak, 
*       To  woo  the  reckless  from  the  brink. 

Know,  then,  the  gardens  of  thy  foe 
Are  ever  near  a  precipice. 
The  brightest  blooms  of  sinful  joy 
Are  nearest  to  the  .crumbling  verge. 
Beware  !     Ye  lovers  of  the  Avorld  ! 
Ye'll  surely  meet  with  Fatal  Flowers  ; 
And  if  ye  pluck  them — death's  your  doom ; 
But  if  ye  spurn  them — heaven 's  yours. 


^i)c  Neglecteti  (gtabe. 

"Remcmb.ev  me,  Vinvtla,  when  low  on  earth  I  lie."— Os3IAN. 

I  have  como  t®  thy  grave  to  weep,  brother, 
And  the  sighs  of  my  bleeding  breast  * 

Shall  blend  with  the  winds  that  sweep,  brother, 
By  the  scene  of  thy  dreamless  rest. 

•    Here  are  graves  less  sacred  than  thine,  brother, 
Which  the  wall  and  the  iron  enclose. 
But,  alas,  there  is  nothing  I  find,  brother, 
To  shelter  thy  lonely  repose. 

The  rose  and  the  jessamine  .bloQjii,  brother. 

And  the  beautiful  laurel  waves, 
To  temper  the  chilly  gloom,  brother, 

Of  other  remembered  graves  ; 

But  no  afFoctionate  hands,  brother, 

Would  nurture  a  token  for  thee  ; 
And  the  rank  weed  flowerless  stands,  brother. 

Where  the  sprout  and  the  flower  should  be. 

There  are  footsteps  "recent,  and  old,  brother. 

All  over  this  field  of  the  dead, 
And  by  them  th«  story  is  told,  brother, 

Of  visits  that  friends  haye  made  ; 

.   But,  alas,  there  is  nothing  to  prove,  brother, 
That  any  have  deigned  to  come. 
To  offer  one  tribute  of  love,  brother, 
Or  shed  but  a  tsar  at  thy  tomb'. 


110       '  •  MYRTLE   LEAVES. 

Thwe  are  many  rich  monuments  here,  brothw, 
Whit?h  tell  of  the  life  and  death 

Of  those — the  cherished  and  dear,  brother, 
Who  sleep  in  the  vaults  beneath  ; 

But  naught  by  the  living  was  done,  brother, 
Thy  name  and  thy  memory  to  save. 

And  only  a  letterless  stone,  brother, 
Is  phiced  at  the  head  of  thy  grave. 

But  in  weeping  thy  desolate  lot,  brother, 
Sweet  hopes  to  ray  bosom  have  come-tr- 

There  are  those  who  have  never  forgot,  brother, 
Thy  virtues,  thy  name,  ftr  thy  tnmb  ! 

,   Let  mortals  neglect  and  despise,  brother, 
•    Thy  humble  and  grass-grown  mound; 
The  angels  shall  come  from  the  skies,  brother, 
And  linger  in  sympathy  round. 

Ah,  yes ;  they  are  near  thee  to-day,  brother, 
Their  smiles  and  their  whispers  are  here, 

So  I  leave  as  I  wander  away,  brother, 
Thy  gave  in  the  angel's  care. 

They  will  guard  it  till  time  is  no  more,  brother, 
And  then,  when  the  signal  is  given, 

Although  thou  M^ert  humble -and  poor,  brother, 
They  will  carry  thee  home  to- heaven. 


My  Happy  Home  I  my  spirit  Home  ! 

Thou'rt  ever  pare  and  bright, 
And  angel  bands  forever  roam 

Thy  field^of  love  and  light. 

Along  thy  shining,  golden  street, 

In  perfect  joy  and  peace, 
We  soon  departed  friends  shall  moot 

And  feast  on  endless  bliss. 

There  we  shall  join  the  happy  throngs, 

Who  play  the  golden  lyre  : 
And  sing  the  sweet,  celestial  songs 

With  tongues  that  never  tir^ 

We'll  wave  the  palms  that  never  fade. 

The  palms  of  victory  ; 
And  wear  the  croAvns  that  Jesus  made. 

Through  all  eternity.  l 

Oh,  then  in  mercy's  precious  rays, 

♦  We'll  bask  the  raptured  soul; 
And  sing  and  sho'ut  Jehovah's  praise  < 
While  termless  age-^  roll. 

The  smiles  of  my  Redeemer  play 
Around  my  glorious  IFome, 

And  through  one  bright,  eternal  day, 
Sweet  Heaven's  beauties  bloom. 


"ft  is  amell." 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  AN  INFANT. 

Now  thine  innocent  heart  froni  its  throbbing  has  ceased  ; 

It  will  thrill  with  life's  changing  emotions  no  more  ; 
And  thy  sweet,  stainless  soul,  from  its  prison's  released  ; 

It  has  peacefully  vanished  from  time's  fading  shore. 

Ah  !  i;hy  form — it  was  beauty — so  youthful  and  fair  ! 

'Twas  the  dearest  and  loveliest  treasure  of  home, 
But  it's  gone  from  the  arms  of  affection  and  care, 

And  now  sleeps  in  the  merciless  arms  of  the  tomb. 

"It  is  well ;"  for  on  earth  there  are  sorrows  untold  ; 

They  are  always  afflicting — are  often  severe, 
Sd,  although  we  must  weep  that  thy  bosom  is  cold, 

We  rejoice  that  it  has  no  more  trouble  to  bear. 

Though  we  own  there  are  pleasures  on  earth  that  are  sweet, 
We  are  sure  there  are  sweeter  and  purer  above, 

Where  the  glory-browned  spirits-  forever  shall  meet, 
With  contentment  and  rapture  and  heavenly  love. 

"It  is  well ;"  for  thy  body  now  soulless  and  still, 
In  the  first  resurrection  shall  joyously  rise, 

And  then  bidding  to  earth  an  eternal  farewell, 
Shall  ascend  in  His  likeness  to  dwell  in  the  skies  ; 

Where  with  spirit  and  body  in  harmony  joined. 
In  the  presence  of  'God  and  the  shining  ones  there, 

Through  all  ages  undying  thbu  ever  shalt  find 
All  the  glory  and  bliss  that  thy  n  ature  can  bear. 


3J[ieepli]g  h\\i   ifopirig. 


How  oft  with  fond  embrace,  Willie, 
I've  pressed  thee  to  my  heart, 

And  watched  thy  smiling  face,  Willie, 
And  felt  supremely  blest. 

Now  many  a  silent  tear,  Willie, 

In  loneliness  I  shed  ; 
My  heart  has  lost  its  cheer,  Willie, 

Since  thou  art  with  the  dead. 

But  though  my  tears  may  stream,  Willie, 
They're  doomed  to  stream  in  vain ; 

Thy  smile  shall  never  beam,  Willie, 
To  mortal  eye  again. 

But  while  thy  prattling  tongue,  Willie, 

Is  hushed  on  earth  forever. 
It  sings  the  sacred  song,  Willie, 

Beyond  the  mystic  river. 

Upon  thy  shining  brow,  Willie, 
There  gleams  a  crown  of  gold. 

And  thou  art  happy  now,  Willie, 
With  happiness  untold. 

And,  Oh  r  how  passing  sweet,  Willie, 

The  hope  by  Mercy  given : 
That  we  again  shall  meet,  Willie, 

And  always  live  in  Ileaven. 


11 


"It)^f  Mnm   Siqe   Sill)." 


A  sweet-^spirited  lady,  reclining  on  her  death  couch,  gazed  through 
the  casement  on  the  quiet  heavens,  and  said,  in  melting  accents,  to 
hor husband:     "D»  you  see  that  beautiful  sky  yonder?     It  will 
not  ba  long  till  I  am  far  beyond  thf,t. 

Oh,  that  sky,  how  passing  lovely  I 

Blue,  to  tell  me  God  is  true  j 
Though  T  know  it  never  changes. 
Still  it  seems  forever  new. 

Often  swept  by  raving  tempest, 

Often  hid  by  cloud  and  storm. 
Still  it  wears,  when  theyVe  departed, 

Just  the  same  sweet,  smiling  charm. 

Now  the  noble  Sun  is  shedding 

Showers  of  silver  brightness  there, 
Grand  old  prophet  of  the  glory 
Where  the  white-robed  sainted  are. 

Oft  I've  thought  while* on  it  gazing, 

That  it  would  delightful  be 
There  to  wing  on  fearless  pinion, 

Safe  and  happy,  bright  and  free. 

But  I  know  that  far  beyond  it 
There's  a  realm  more,  rich,  more  fair — 

"Where  no  clouds  nor  darkness  lower — 
Endless  night  and  calm  are  ihcrQ, 

There  the  ransomed  live  forever. 
Full  of  perfect  love  and  peace  ; 
*Fear  and  trial  enter  never  ; 
*^oy  (ind  triumph  never  cease. 


"TKAU  8]0AL"J:ii?UL  BLUB  iSKf."  116 

Thither  swiftly  I  am  going  ; 

Scon  within  its  light  I'll  rest, 
Never  more  of  sorrow  knowing — 

BUst I  and  Oh,  forever  blest! 

There  with  harp  and  crown  I'll  wait  thee, 

Till  thine  end,  like  mine,  is  come  ; 
Then  with  heavenly  shout  I'll  greet  the 

Welcome  to  oar  glorious  home. 


"  Mary  died  smiling." 

A  LONG  farewell  we  bid  thee, 

For  thj  days,  sweet  friend,  are  done ; 
And  the  lips  of  sorrow  whisper, 

*'  She  is  gone,  forever  gon'e." 

Thy  blooming  cheek  its  rose-leaf 
Hath  drooped,  beneath  the  breath 

Of  that  foe  to  earthly  prospect. 
Cold  and  unrelenting  Death. 

Thine  eye,  that  once  did  sparkle. 
With  a  ray  so  pure  and  bright, 

Hath  extinguished  in  the  death-damp 
Its  last  soft  beam  of  light. 

Thy  heart  of  love  and  tenderness 

But  yesterday  the  home, 
Hath  changed  its  warm  pulsations 

For  the  slumber  of  the  tomb. 

Thy  lips  are  strangely  silent,  • 

And  thy  tongae  is  sadly  still. " 

Tor  thou  needest  them  no  longer 
Thy  spirit  thoughts  to  tell ; 

Till  the  dawning  of  the  glory 

Of  the  resurrection  morn, 
When  a  bris^ht,  immortal  body 

Thy  spirit  shall  adorn. 

Thy  smiles  were  always  lovely, 
But  far  sweeter  than  the  rest, 

Was  the  one  thy  winging  spirit 
On  thy  dying  lips  impressed. 


FAKEWELL. 


^uf^I^  «s  of  the  triumph 
Which  that  holj  spirit  won  ; 

-^H^  spoke  to  us  of  Heaven, 
V^here  in  rapture  thou  art  gone. 

Thy  name  is  fondly  cherished 

It  tells  them  of  their  Saviour— 
Twas  his  holy  mother's  name. 

Agaim  farewell,  we  bid  thee  ; 

That  thy  disembodied  spirit 
May  linger  round  us  here. 

We'll  deck  thy  tomb  with  flowers, 
VJhose  dew-drops  tears  shall  b©  • 

And  luem'ry's  purest  incense 
>V  e  will  ever  give  to  thee. 

When  we  think  of  thee^of  Heaven 
Our  second  thought  shall  be  • 

And  when  we  think  of  Heaven 
Sweet  Friend  1  we'll  think  of  thee. 

We  know  that  thou  art  happy— 
Ever  happy  in  the  skies— 

Where  the  soul-transporting  rapture 
ut  the  ransomed  never  dies. 

We  expect  when  life  is  over 

That  in  joy  we'll  reunite, 
nith  all  the  dear  depart^ 

Who  have  reached  the  land  of  light. 

Yes  ;  oh  I  yes,  we  hope  to  see  thee 

In  the  glory-land  above  ; 
And  shout  with  thee  in  ecstacy, 

And  feast  on  endless  love 


117 


imie  lllq. 


She  smiled  at  morninsj,  slept  at  noon,  and  died  with  tha 
beautiful  day. 

She  is  smiling  and  happy, 

Disturb  not  her  joy  ! 
For  her  life-star  is  worthy 

Of  .an  unclouded  sky. 

She  is  sleeping  and  dreaming  ; 

Oh,  break  not  the  spell  1 
One  so  lovely  and  saintly 

Can't  slumber  too  well 

She  is  fainting  and  dying  ; 

Let  her  spirit  go  on  1 
It  is  fitted  for  Heaven, 

And  for  Heaven  alone. 

She  is  cold  now  and  lifeless, 

Lay  her  form  in  the  temb  I 
For  the  Lord  who  redeemed  her. 

Will  t-ke  her  up  home. 

•  • 

There, — sleeping  and  dying 

Eternally  o'er,^ — 

She  will  feast  on  the  mercies 

Of  God  ever  mora. 


"lell  W . 

LIEUT,  herndon's  messagb  TO  HIS  vnrH. 

'hat  I  cannot  utter  with  my  mouth,  accepi,  Lord,  from  my 
and  soul." — Last  words  of  F.  Quarlks, 

"  Lord,  save  the  ship  V  the  hundreds^hriek, 
And  the  Gca  breaks  o'er  the  trembling  deck  ; 
**  Lord,  save  the  sliip  1  shea's  sinking  fast  V 
And  surge  on  surge  goes  howling  past. 

Ihe  threatening  thundars,  roaring  round. 
Joined  with  the  storm's  terrific  sound, 
Proclaim,  with  long  and  deafening  swell. 
Sweet  hope's  and  life's  eternal  knell. 

The  crested  waves,  in  lightning's  glare, 
As  they  whirl  and  fight  the  frantic  air, 
Gleam  like  the  spectress  of  despair, 
Oome  op  the  scene  of  wo©  to  share. 

"  Lord  save  the  ship  I  she'll  soon  be  gone  l" 
And  death  and  woe  come  darkly  on  j 
While  every  firm  and  manly  brow 
Burns  hot  with  fear  unfelt  till^now. 

Each  eye  is  glazed  with  hopeless  Trght — 
No  tear-drop  trembles  on^ho  ti  ?;ht ;  ^ 

F.or  tears  must  own  their  want  of  power. 
In  such  a  wild  and  woeful' hour. 

The  gallant  Ilefndon  nobly  stands 
jfAnd  shouts  his  loud  but  vain  commauda  ; 


12d  MTRTLH   LEAVB6. 

Resolved  tho^quaking  bark  to  save. 
Or  find  with  her  an  ocean  grave, 

He  bravely  struggles  to  ccntrol 
Tho  grand  emotions  of  his  soul, 
When  with  his  quick  and  skilLul  eje, 
He  sees  it  is  Jiis  doom  to  die. 

The  life-boat's  ready  to  depart, 
"When  love,  in  his  devoted  heart, 
Remembers  midst  his  awful  doom, 
His  wife — his  cherished  wife  at  home. 

"  Tell  her'' — he  cries,  th'en  voice  is  hushed, 
Bdueath  a  wave  of  feeling  crushed: 
"  Tell  her'' — but  tongue  can  never  tell 
The  feelings  which  that  bosom  swell. 

I've  seen  the  gleaming  lightning  stream, 
Descend  from  clouds  in  living  flame, 
Disdain  to  touch  the  tempting  wire. 
And  spend  its  power  on  the  air  ; 

So  that  tremendous  passion  thrill,  , 

,  By  mortal  tongue  unspeakable, 
From  toiKjuc  to  mightier  sinfit  turns, 
And  soul  from  hquI  tho  story  learns. 

"  Tell  her  "—that  though  her  husband's  lost, 

^     He  perished  bravely  at  his  post. 

And  strove  in  life  and  doatli  to  prove 

That  he  was  worthy  of  her  love. 
*"  ♦ 

"  Tell  her  "—that  he  who  loved  in  life, 
Through  joy  and  peace — through  storm  and  strife- 
Did  love  as  fondly  and  as  well,    * 
While  death's  dark  curtains  round  him  fell. 


"tell  her.' 


121 


"Tell  her  " — I'd  give  a  world  to  meet 
Once  more  at  home  that  smile  so  sweet ; 
To  hear  once  more  that  sacred  voice 
Which  alwiiys  didmy  heart  rejoice. 

"  Tell  her  " — to  cherish  no  regret, 
To  feel  no  sorrow  o'er  my  fate  : 
"  Tell  her  "—I  know  that  all  is  well, 
And  "  tell  her,"  then,  farewell  1  favowoll 


hne$ 


IN  MEMORY  OF  DR.  MITCHELL. 

Rev.  Eiisha  Milclioll,  D.  D. ,  ii  distihguislud  profeBJor  in  the 
L'l'ivbrsity  of  North  Carolina,  ksl  Lis  lile  by  falling  from  a  proci- 
|ico,  while  engaged  in  menfuring  the  height  of  the  Black  Moun- 
tiin,  In  Ihe  aumraer  of  185Y.  His  b  >dy  whs  fcund  in  a  bfauliful 
mountain  stream  at  thfi  foot  of  the  precipice,  hi^  hand  grasping  a 
iauu'l  branch.  The  scone  of  the  latal  accident  is  romantic  and  sub* 
limv 

Since  thou  art  man  and  mortal. 

And  art  by  death  laid  low, 
'Tis  well  that  thou  hast  fallen 

On  you  lofty  mountain's  lu-ow.  , 

*  That  mount  will  love  to  praise  thee, 
As  a  true  and  noble  friend, 
And  will  proudly  speak  thy  glory, 
Till  time  itself  shall  end. 

AVith  its  high  careering  summit, 

Making  lofty  seem  but  low,         •  ♦ 

'Tis  an  emblem  of  that  greatncsM 
Wliioh  thy  deeds  around  thee  throw. 

The  hoarse  and  jarrin');  thunder, 

Around  the  mountain  dread, 
Was  the  wild  al*rm  of  nature, 

Telling  all  her  son  was  dead. 

The  green  and  fadeless  ivy, 

Which  wove  thy  shroud  of  shade, 

Was  a  token  tkat  thy  memory 
Shall  nevcr,,never  fade.' 


IN   MEMORY   OF   DR.  MITHCELL.  128 

The  pure  flnd  stainless  waters, 

In  which  thy  body  lay, 
Are  an  emblem  of  the  tribute 

That  unnumbered  hearts  shall  pay. 

^hou  didst  grasp  a  sprig  of  hiurel, 

And  held  it  e'en  in  death, 
An  emblem  that  no  fortune 

Shall  rob  thee  of  that  wealth. 

That  wreath  which  is  immortal, 

Like  thy  stupendous  mind. 
A  wreath  of  love  and  honor 

That  thy  countless  friends  have  twined. 

Though  thou  died'st  upon  the  meuntain, 

In  the  lonely,  far  off  dell. 
Without  a  friend  to  soothe  thee, 

Or  whisper  thee  farewell ; 

'Twas  well  ;  for  human  friendship 

Could  not  have  saved-  thee  then  ;-' 
And  we  hope  thou  hadst  the  blessing 

Of  greater  far  than. men. 

No  mortal  eye  could  see  thee,  .  • 

But  thou  wast  not  unseen, 
Bright  messengers  from  Heaven 

Wore  witnessing  the  scene. 

They  came,  as  God  had  sent  them  ; 

Were  near  thee  ;  saw  thee  die  ; 
They  caught  thee  on  their  pinions 

And  wafted  thee  on  high. 


Jo  0  ^cpqHcO  EHeoO. 

II ow  sad  the' thought  that  lo\-iiig  hearts, 
Bound  by  the  tics  of  friendship  true, 
And  blended  by  communions  sweet, 
Shoukl  even  in  tlie  morn  of  life 
Be  severed  ])y  the  hand  of  death  ! 
Alas,  amid  the  transient  scenes 
Of  changeful,  everchangingtimc, 
We  can't  expect  unfading  joys  ; 
For  everything,  around,  above, 
Is  taught  by  God  to  softly  speak  : 
"Fast  going,  gone,  forever  gone.'' 
'Tis  thus  with  all  the  golden  links 
•By  which  congenial  hearts  are  joined  ; 
.'Tis  thus  with  virtue,  merit,  worth, 
All  precious  excellence — all  good. 
Ah,  yes  ;  the  lovely  and  the  good 
I\Iust  yield  to  heartless  change,  and  die  ; 
Else  he  Avould  not  have  ceased  to  live. 
Whose  sad  departure  now  we  mourn. 
A  friend  is  gone  !  forqver  gdne  1 
Alas,  too  true,  that  gentle  smile, 
That  lovely,  dear,  familiar  voice,    • 
That  countenance  serene,  wliich  told 
The  noble,  generous  soul  within, 
•How  beautiful,  how  full  of  worth — 
Relentless  death  hath  plucked  away. 
Tears  copious,  true,  and  bitter  fall 
Around  his  tomb  ;  and.  they  are  tears 
Which  bosom-blonding  grief  hath  caused. 
The  many  tears,  the  many  sfghs, 
Bespeak  the  many  stricken  hearts 
From  which- a  cherished  objects'  gone. 

Dear  Friend,  thou'rt  gone  forever  hence  ; 
The  noiseless  turf  sleeps  o'er  thy  form  ; 
But  thou  art  dearly  cherished  still, 
We  feel — we  know — that  while  all  else 
To  all  undoing  change  may  yield, 
The  feelings  of  the  faithful  heart. 


TO   A   DEPARTED   FRIENI).  125 

Cau  smile  at  fortune,  mock  at  time, 

And  cry  till  death,  "  We're  still  the  same/' 

Of  thee  sweet  memory  will  speak, 

And  in  her  temples  bright  and  fair. 

Thou  shalt  forever  be  enshrined. 

Resounding  always  are  '"icr  %yalls 

With  soul  enchanting  w(«-ds,  once  spoken 

By  friendship's  dear,  remembered,  lips  ; 

And  there  we'll  ever  hear  thy  voice.     . 

There  lingers  visiqn!%  SAveet  and  bright, 

Of  pleasures  otce  enjoyed  with  friends. 

And,  when  in  hours  of  tranquil  thought    • 

We  viewed  the  scenes  in  which,  thou  sharcdst, 

Remembrance  warm,  of  thee,  will  steal 

In  holy  softness  o'er  the  soul ; 

And  thus  thon'lt  be  with  us  till  death. 

Amid  the  gloom  that  veils  our  hearts, 

That  we're  bereft  of  or^  so  dear. 

There  is  a  ray  of  blissful  joy 

To  soothe,  to  comfort  and  to  cheer ; 

It  is  the  consciousness  wo  have 

That,  though  thou  art  no  more  on  earth, 

And  though  thy  breathless  body  lies 

In  quiet  stillness  in  the  grave, 

Thy  spirit,  plumed  with  pinioils  bright 

Of  heavenly  faith,  hath  winged  its  flight 

To  brighter  realms,  to  holier  joys, — 

Thou'rtdead  to  earth,  alive  to  Heaven, 

That  voice,  whose  tones  were  once  so  Hwcet, 

Shall  greet  no  more  the  mortal  ear:  ^ 

But,  well' attuned  to  angels'  tongues. 

Shall  chant,  througli  never  ending  years, 

flie  glorious  picans  of  tlic  saints. 

Id  everlanting  joy  and  bliss. 

Although  we  wish  thee  here  ilgain, 

AVe  would  not  wish  thee  out  of  Heaven.     ^ 


"  ©Hi"  ime  i^ose." 


This  Is  the  simple  but  eVquent  inscription  on  the  tombstone  of ! 
little  Kosa.     Above  the  words  is  a  rosebud  broken  from  the  stem 
and  falling. 

•    # 

In  a  bright  little  home  bloomed  a  beautiful  rose, 

Full  of  all  that  was  sweet  and  endearing  ; 
A  type  of  the  flowers  that  blossom  above, 
Where  all  is  more  lovely  and  cheering. 

Not  a  thorn  it  concealed  to  secretly  wound 
The  kind  and  the  loving  who  kissed  it  5 
.  It  shed  only  heavenly  fragrance  around 
The  hearts  of  the  many  who  blessed  it. 

Ere  the  light;  of  its  morning  had  ripened  to  day — 
While  its  leaves  with  the  dew-drops  were  shining — 

It  w*s  plucked  from  its  stem — it  was  stolen  away — 
And  its  friends  were  all  left  to  repining. 

Do  yoa  wonder  who  plucked  it-,  so  cherished  and  dear  ? 

Do  you  ^sk  whe^;e  its  beauties  now  glisten  ? 
Then  check  for  a  moment  the  sigh  and  the  tear, 

And  joyously,  gratefully  listen: 

Though  its  sweetness  and  beauty  no  more  shall  be  given 

On  earth  to  delight  those  who  loved  it, 
Yet  it  blo«ris  with  more  sweetmess  and  beauty  in  Heaven, 

Where  Jesus,  its  Saviour,'  removed  it. 

There  fadeless,  unchanging,  henceforth  it  will  bloom 

On  that  happier,  holier;  shore. 
While  it  joys  and  enjoys  its  felicitous  home, 

Its  glorious  home  evermore, 


-  £i)e  Setting  BU^: 

•  'Tvras  a  etill  autumn  eve  and  the  Sun  in  the  West 
Had  wrapped  us  in  shadows  and  left  us  to  rest, 
When  I  spied  in  the  beautiful  sky  afar, 
On  the  verge  of  the  heavens,  a  lonely  star. 

Not  a  vapor  was  there  ta  bedim  its  bright  gleam, 
Or  hide  frorn  our  vision  one  radiant  beam  ; 
And  it  seemed  to  smile  with  a  joy  divine, 
Ai  though  it  was  happy,  and  loved  to  shine. 

I  loved  it  because  it  looked  innocent  there. 
Away  in  its  sky-home,  cloudless  and  fair  ; 
'•Sweet  jewel  of  Heaven  1  ''  ^oft  whispered  my  heart, 
"  How  gentle  and  lovely  and  precious  thou  art  I  " 

'Thus  I  view«d  it  with  feelings  enchanted,  till,  lo  ! 
It  sank  in  its  beauty  the  billows  below  ; 
And  I  sighed  that  its  silvery,  heavenly  ray, 
Which  so  much  delighted,  so  soon  should  away. 

But  a  spirit-voice  told  me  in  words  of  peace, 
*'Let  not  its  departure  your  bosom  distress  ; 
For  though  you  no  longer  behold  its  pure  beams. 
Yet  in  yonder  bright  heaven  it  joyously  gleams." 

Sweet  Mary  I  this  star  was  an  emblem  of  thee, 
Thy  spirit  was  gentle  and  pure  as  its  ray ; 
And  to  thee  so  much  of  the  angel  was  given. 
Like  a  star  thou  wast  made  for  a  home  in  Heaven. 

Like  the  star,  thy  life  though  holy  and  bright, 
Was  gifted  by  God  vyith  enxphemeral  light ; 


THE   SETTING   STAR.  127 

And  scarce  did  thy  beauty  our  cottage  illume, 
When  soulless  thy  body  went  down  to  the  tomb. 

But  why  am  I  weeping  ?  there's  mercy  that  says, 
It  was  happy  that  fleeting  and  few  were  thy  days  ; 
That  thou  only  hast  fled  from  a  cottage  like  this, 
To  enter  forever  a  mansion  of  bliss.   . 

There  shining  in  glory  and  shouting  with  joy 

In  the  Salem  of  God,  is  thine  only  employ. 

Oh,  we'll  hope  while  we  live,  that  when  death  shall  have 

come,   ' 
We  will  meet  thee  up  there  in  thy  rapturous  home  ! 


-  THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  REDEEMED. 

"Well  done,  thou  goofl  and-faithfnl  servant;  thou  hast 
been  Jaithful  over  a  Jew  thing- ;  I  will  make  the  ruler  over 
many  things;  enter  thou  into  the  joy  of  thy  Lord. — Mat- 

TllliU'  XXV.  21. 

Nature's  heart  hfidi  ceased  its  throbbing — 
World  on  worlds  liave  burned  to  uothing— 
I'^arth  has  melted  and  departed  ; 
All  the  millions  who've  CAisted 
F.rom  tlie  bright  inauguration 
IM'the  fiiFt  pair  in  the  garden — 
AD  of  every  tribe  mid  nation- • 
All  oi' every  na»ue  and  ntation 
Throughout  all  the  worM  terrestrial, 
Eound  theCreat  White  TJirone  of  Jesus, 
r>y  the  angels  have  been  marshaled. 
There  the  Jvecord  has  been  opened — 
K^cord  bearing  on  its  jtnget* 
EveriT  great  an(lsim})le  action — 
Every  word  that  has  been  spoken — ■ 
Every  thought  and  hope  and  purpose — 
Every  pa?^;ion  find  emotion — • 
All  have  nut  I'tie  yiorn  ordeal 
( )r  ungwf  rvijig.  (jodly  jiiPtitio 
Chrint  has  made  the  separation — 
Evcrla(*|ing  .«r'para(:on — 
OI  the  wicked  from  the  holy, 
thi  his  k'fi  are  congregated 
All  who  died  without  receiving 
*     Hope  and  mercy  sent  froMi  IJcaven. 
See  their  weeping — hear  their  wailing  I 
Weeping,  wailjjig  Jiever  ending  I 
Jcf^UH  turns  his  eye  upon  (hem, 
Eye  .surcharged  with  burning  vengeance, 
And,  in  inajrsty  terrific , 
He  exclaims,  ','  Depart,  yo  cursed, 
Into  everlasting  sorrow  V' 

Now  he.tnrn,'*  him  to  the  ran.somed  ; 
All  hifi  look  is  love  and  mercy; 
They  are  happ}' — very  happy  ; 
Li^t  !  he  tellis  them  softly,  eweetly  ; 
"  Well  done  I  good  and  faithful  servant; 


130      THE  TKIUMrH  OF  THE  REEMED. 

You  have  loved  me— you  have  served  me- 
When  you  might  have  been  against  me; 
You  have  slood  and  battled  for  me, 
When  you  might  have  fled  or  fallen  ; 
You  have  struggled,,  wept  and  suffered — 
Sacrificed  dear  hopes  and  treasures- 
Sundered  bonds  of  sweet  affection- 
Lived  and  died  as  I  commanded — 
That  your  God  might  love  and  save  you  ! 
Tluice  well  done  !  ye  noble  children  I 
Since  you've  been  thus  truly  faithful 
Over  treasures  few  and  fleeting, 
In  the  land  of  your  probation, 
Henceforth  I  will  make  you  rulers 
Over  many  things  and  precious — 
Make  you  kings  in  Heaven's  kingdoms- 
Kingdoms  that  exist  forever — 
Make  you  priests  in  Heaven's  temples — 
Temples  that  shall  crumble  never — 
Kings  and  Priests  to  God  forever  V 

Now  beliold  you  shining  city! 
That's  the  queen  of  fadeless  beauty — 
That's  the  hallowed  home  of  glory — 
That's  the  Capital  of  Heaven — 
That's  the  great  celestial  Salfrw  ; — 
Here's  the  pathway  to  its  portals — 
Pathway  made  of  rays  of  glory — 
Enter,  and  rejoice  forever  ! 
I  don't  tell  you  seek  to  enter — 
I  don't  tell  you  strive  to  enter — 
I  don't  tell  you  pray  to  enter — 
I  don't  tell  you  weep  to  enter — 
I  don't  tell  you  die  to  enter  ; — 
These  I  told  you  while  you  journeyed 
In  the  world  of  ein  and  sorrow  ; 
Now,  I  simply  tell  yoUj  "  Enter  V^ 

Lo !  the  sinless,  white-robed  legions, 
Numberless  as  etars  of  Heaven, 
All  who've  come  through  tribulation, 
Porm  in  long  and  brilliant  columns 
To  begin  the  march  triumphal. 
See  them  march  !     Attending  angels 
Hover  round  in  praise  and  wonder. 
See  them  march !    The  Lord  Redeemer 


TRIUxMPH  OF  THE  REDEEHED.  131 

Is  their  glorified  commander. 

See  them  march  with  banners  streaming  ! 

iSee  the  palms  of  vict'ry  waving  ! 

See  the  robes  of  beauty  sliining! 

See  the  spotless  pinions  Hashing! 

See  the  crowns  of  glory  streaming  ! 

See  the  walls  of  jasper  sparkling  ! 

See  the  crystal  mansions  beaming  ! 

See  the  throne  of  God  careering  ! 

See  the  lofty  life-tree  bending  ! 

See  the  living  waters  dashing  ! 

See  the  fadeless  flowers  blushing  ! 

See  the  smiles  of  Jesus  playing! 

See  the  blissful  fields  outspreading  ! 

See  th'fe  hills  eternal  looming! 

See  all  Heaven  sweetly  blooming  ! 

See  immortal  glory  blazing! 

Hear  the  shouts  of  angels  sounding! 

ITcnr  Fera[diic  music  swelling  ! 

Hear  the  voice  of  God  resounding! 

Hear  unninn bored  millions  shouting! 

Hear  them  hailing,  blessing,  praising! 

Hear  their  hallelujas  blending! 

Hear  their  thrilling  pagans  rising! 

Now  they've  entered  ;  yes  they've  entered! 

Entered  into  highest  Heaven  ! 

Alleluia,  praise  Jehovah  ! 

Alleluia,  now — forever. 

Oh,  how  fades  all  earthly  glory. 

When  we  bring  it  to  the  contrast 

With  such  mighty  coming  wonders  ! 

Go  t®  Kome  in  all  her  greatness. 

Which  she  had  when  she  was  greatest ; 

Gather  to  her  streets  and  temples 

All  that's  beautiful  and  charming, 

All  that's  bright  and  grand  and  mighty, 

Which  her  spreading  realms  could  lurnish. 

Let  her  heroes  conquer  nations, 

Nations  lull  of  wealth  and  power; 

Make  stupendous  preparations 

P'or  her  proud  returning  consul ; 

Make  a  pageant  far  transcending 

Aught  she  ever  saw  or  hoped  for; 

Gather  garlands,  hang  the  festoons, 

Wreathe  the  chaplets,  crown  the  goblets, 

Bear  th^  arches,  float  the  bani^ersj 


■  132        TRIUMPH  or  THE  REDEEMED. 

Sound  the  trumpets,  swell  tlie  plaudits  ; 

Give  ber  daughters,  fair  as  angels  ; 

Give  her  eons  and  soldiers  brilliant ; 

Make  Rome  more  than   :iome  e'er  could  be  ; 

Make  a  triumph,  such  as  fancy 

1  her  wildest  freak  can  conjure  . — 

Then  contrast  it  with  the  triumph 

Of  the  ransomed,  and  the  Saviour ! 

»  One  is  made  of  objects  mortal, 

Deathless  all  that'makes  the  other. 
Reason  tells  us,  wisdom  tells  ua, 
Rome's  great  triumph  soon  is  ended  ; 
JMmc  soofi  finds  her  garlands  faded, 
Finds  her  banners  torn  and  trailing, 
Finds  her  lofty  arches  broken, 
Finds  her  noble  temp'cs  crumldad, 
Finds  her  heroes  gone — forgotten, 
Finds  her  people  dead  and  buriod, 
Finds  e'en  Rotne  herself  in  ruins, 
But  the  triumph  under  Je^us 
Is  an  cvrrlasl.inj  trii'jnph! 

Child  of  ftiith  in  the  Redeemer, 
Ofid  liumility  and  trouble,  . 
^Mid  your  sorrows  and  aflViclion?-, 
See  the  vinion  wc  have  painted  ; 
And  with  bright  anticipation 
Ot  your  rai)ture  in  that  entrance, 
5»ummon  z«'al  attd  onward  struggle. 
,    Centiuies  oftbuk  mislorhine 

Might  be  sought  for,  could  they  purchase      /• 

Such  a  trinmjdi,  such  a  glory. 

Weep,  but  fondly  hope  while  weeping! 

Ye,  who've  lost  the  loved  and  cherished, 
Ye,  who've  wept  and  wailed  in  anguish 
Round  the  grave  so  cold  and  ruthless, 
See  your  loved  ones  in  the  triumph  ! 
See  them  marching,  singing,  shouting, 
Into  God's  eternal  Eden. 
Weep  not  them,  they  need  no  weeping,    • 
Thank  the  Lord,  and  go  and  join  them  I 

THE  END. 


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